Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Summary: Several months after the events of “Chosen”, the Scooby Gang has managed to set up the rudimentary beginnings of a slayer institute in Cleveland, OH. Only problem is, they’re going to need some more students . . . .
1. Prelude

Disclaimer: All the Buffy characters are, of course, property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy productions. I'm making no money in writing this, but am rather using it as an exercise to keep my creative writing muscles from atrophying post college. Additional disclaimers will follow as needed.  
  
Author's note: This story is actually a series of short stories, centered around Xander and Dawn traveling around the country post-"Chosen" in search of newly called slayers. Each story will take place in a different region, with different people and new characters all along the way. Hope you all enjoy it!  
  
Summary: Several months after the events of "Chosen", the Scooby Gang has managed to set up the rudimentary beginnings of a slayer institute in Cleveland, OH. Only problem is, they're going to need some more students . . . . Xander and Dawn have taken up the role of Slayer Trackers, traveling the country following leads to various members of the chosen many.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Prelude  
  
"Alright." Xander set a battered milk crate into the trunk of his car. "We've got road flares, a tire pressure gage, four quarts of oil, windshield wiper fluid, jumper cables, paper towels, and anti-freeze. There's a fresh full-sized spare, tire iron, and jack. We just got the oil changed, fuel injector has been freshly cleaned, new battery, windshield wipers, and even a new air filter, because Willow was swayed by the old 'only fifteen dollars extra' deal. I'd say the car stuff is ready."  
  
Dawn swung a large duffel bag in next to the milk-crate-o-auto-gear; it settled with a few clanks. "Crossbow, battle ax, twenty stakes, a stake carving knife, crosses, holy water, and two swords. Are we sure we have enough weapons?"  
  
Xander nodded, rearranged a suitcase, and shut the trunk. "Including the shotgun, hand-sickle, and morning star of needless bloodshed we've got stowed in the back seat, I think we're covered. And there's more vampire survival goodness in the glove compartment."  
  
"I still don't like this." Buffy leaned against the passenger door, her arms folded tightly over her purple v-neck sweater. "You guys shouldn't be going out there without someone to help protect you."  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes, and shoved a book-bag of essential research material behind the driver's seat. Xander smiled as reassuringly as he could at the senior slayer.  
  
"Like who, Buff? We've been over this." He ticked options off on his fingers. "The new slayers all need to stay here and train. You need to stay here and train them. Giles is working on finding what's left of the Watcher's Council, Wood's setting up teachers so that the girls can all get their GEDs, and Willow is working with the Devon coven to find more slayers. Besides, I doubt we'd be able to convince her to hit the road for untold months without Kennedy, who, as I said, still needs to stay here and train, though she doesn't seem to think so."  
  
"There's still–"  
  
"NO, Buffy. You know Dawn still isn't comfortable with the idea of traveling with Faith. And neither am I, frankly. She's come along way, but I think she'll be better off with a stable place to call home for awhile. I don't want her freaking out and leaving us on the road."  
  
Buffy sighed, looking towards the front door of the hotel they'd spent the last six months renovating into the new Slayer Headquarters. "And I know, with Cleveland being on a Hellmouth, and having something like ten times the population of Sunnydale, we need experienced slayers here." She watched her friend and her sister finish loading up the car. "Are you guys sure you'll be alright?"  
  
"We've got cellphones, Buffy." Dawn held up her tiny new Motorola. "And Willow says if we need it, the Devon coven can arrange a translocation spell to get us help if we really need it." She hefted the morning-star briefly before setting it back under the protective blanket. "Besides, its not like Xander and I are TOTALLY useless."  
  
"Could you at least bring Andrew with you?"  
  
Xander flinched. "God, Buffy, that's like a fate worse than–"  
  
"Xander!" Speak of the guy who runs down below, here was Andrew now, running down the front walk. "I've got a present for you before you go." He skidded slightly on the cobblestones, nearly pitching head first into the passenger side door. Once he regained his footing, he held up a glossy computer printout, his grin splitting his face almost obscenely.  
  
It was a cartoony rendering of a stake and cross. The letters S and M stood out in tall yellow and blue letters.   
  
"It's for the SlayerMobile!" Andrew picked at a corner of the printout, peeling away a white paper backing. "I picked up the printable window transfers at BestBuy this morning!"  
  
"For the last time, Andrew," Xander made his way around the car to the driver's side. "We're not calling it the SlayerMobile."  
  
"Yeah!" Dawn slammed her door shut a little too cheerfully. Xander winced. "It's the Mystery Machine."  
  
"No, Dawn, we're not . . ." Xander tapped his head on the steering wheel, setting off the horn. "It's the car. That's what we're calling it."  
  
"Oh, come on. You guys were the scooby gang, right? And we're off to drive around the country in search of mysteries to solve. It's perfect."  
  
"Hey!" Buffy wrapped a protective arm over Dawn's shoulder. "No solving mysteries. You're looking for slayers. Looking for mysteries is trouble, and we have enough trouble coming to US. Got it?"  
  
"But BUUU-FFFFY," Dawn sniffed pathetically. "Looking for slayers is BOOO-RIIING."  
  
Buffy smiled. It had been way too long since Dawn had pulled out her mystical teenaged whining powers. "Okay, maybe one mystery. No more than that though, or I'll have Willow transdislocate me to wherever you are just so I can ground you."  
  
"Thanks, sis!" Dawn kissed her on the cheek. "You're the best."  
  
"Do you have your laptop?"  
  
Out came the eye-roll again. "Yesssss, and Xander says we'll stop wherever we find an internet café so I can keep up with Robin's lesson plan."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "You don't know how lucky you are, Dawn, I would have killed to get home schooling privileges."  
  
"What," Xander stood, leaning against the roof. "And miss out on all those amazing hellmouthy adventures we had?"  
  
"God, yes. Now hurry up, we're all waiting to say good-bye."  
  
"Yes'm." Xander gave the back seat one last scan, then shut the door. "Come on, let's get this show on the road."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"And promise you'll call me if that eye acts up AT ALL."  
  
"I know, Wills." Xander lifted his left hand to his face, only to have it slapped away by the redhead.  
  
"Don't touch it!"  
  
The moment Xander's eye-socket had healed enough for a prosthetic, Willow had insisted on enchanting it. The spell had come straight from the white magic books, with the approval of the coven, and Willow had spent hours working out how to avoid any nasty side effects that might occur. So Xander once again had full 20/20 vision, with the added perk of being able to "see" the slayer essence surrounding a girl through his left eye. The only trouble they'd found so far was that Xander had to be careful what he did with it should he take it out, as he saw through it no matter where it was. The resulting skewed vision tended to leave him very off balance.  
  
But everyone was still waiting for the other shoe to drop; for the enchantment to go bad.  
  
"I have to touch it sometimes," Xander hugged the witch to him tightly. "Gotta keep it clean."  
  
Willow squeezed him back. "The first one's in Maryland. Near DC."  
  
"I know."  
  
"We'll call as we find more,"  
  
"Willow, I KNOW."  
  
"Send postcards?"  
  
"And emails, every day. And we've got unlimited nights and weekends, so we'll call and check in."  
  
"Not while driving." Willow's head was on his shoulder, her eyes shut. "And don't be stupid. If there's trouble–"  
  
"We'll be okay." Xander pulled back, looking in her eyes. They were bright and rimmed in red. "I promise. We'll send the slayers back to you, and be home before you know it."  
  
"Liar." One final hug, and she stepped away. Dawn was finishing up with Buffy, and it was time to leave.  
  
The two slayer trackers gave their final hugs, settled into the car, and left. Willow, Buffy, and Giles stood together on the curb, watching the tail lights disappear around the corner. They turned to head back into the hotel.  
  
The car swung back around and parked. Dawn leaped out.  
  
"What'd you forget?" Buffy smiled. Dawn couldn't go anywhere without turning back at least once.  
  
"Tooth brush!" She swept past them. "And road maps!"  
  
tbc 


	2. the Marble Steps part 1

addendum to the disclaimer: The story of the marble steps belongs to my father, who wrote it while growing up in Cabin John, MD. The foundation in the woods is real, and so are the marbles.  
  
Summary: First stop: Maryland. Joanna Christenson is about to learn that the bumps in the night are real, and Xander and Dawn discover that local history can bite.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 1: the Marble Steps  
  
Part One  
  
Bethesda, MD  
  
11:45 am  
  
Dawn stretched and rolled her head from side to side. She and Xander had been driving non-stop since Cleveland, stopping only long enough to swap drivers and use the facilities. They'd just checked into the hotel, and were now standing in street, at the address the coven had given them for Joanna Christenson, the first of many new slayers. Dawn felt like shit.  
  
A quick glance in the mirror told her that as much as she felt awful, she still looked presentable enough. She had changed clothes in the backseat, from the sweat pants and long sleeved t-shirt that offered comfort in the car, to a pair of tailored black trousers and a simple green blouse. She slid her arms into her black, blazer styled coat, and shivered.  
  
Xander stood by the side of the car, wearing his construction supervisor suit and a scarf. His teeth were chattering. "I think it's gonna take awhile for our blood to thicken." He crunched forward a few steps in the snow. "I was all excited about seeing a real winter, but it's definitely overrated."  
  
"Yeah," Dawn crossed in front of the car and looked up at the house that was peeking through the skeletal trees. "What are we gonna say?"  
  
"The usual speech, 'in every generation there is a Chosen One, she alone will stand against the' yadda yadda, and guess what? Lucky you, we've found a loop hole and now there's a Chosen Many!"  
  
"That oughta make her feel special,"  
  
"Well, considering the woodge that Giles says the new slayers are giving off, she'll have already had her first 'supernatural experience', so we'll have a leg up."  
  
"This close to DC? It'll probably have been a dead president."  
  
Xander chuckled, the image of a high school girl facing of against a spectral Teddy Roosevelt flashing through his mind. "Well, there's no time like the present."  
  
The two set off up the hill that rose sharply from the road where their car was parked. There were no lights shining from the large bank of windows that faced the street, but a row of garden lanterns lined the twisting stairs, leading them to hope that someone would be home.  
  
By the time they reached the front of the house, along a driveway facing away from the road, both of them were winded. They spent a moment beside the wooden patio catching their breath. A white Subaru station wagon sat in a snow covered car park. There was no doorbell.  
  
"Here goes everything," Xander knocked.  
  
A few moments later, a woman opened the door. Her wolf-gray hair curled tightly against her scalp, and the numerous wrinkles lining her face drifted in an upwards position, showing folds of laugh lines. She peered at them curiously from blue, cats-eye glasses, her eyes a washed out topaz. She was dressed in a loose fitting afghan dress. Three cats mewled at the visitors from her ankles.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
"Mrs. Christenson?" Xander held out his hand, a winning smile that he hoped masked his exhaustion stretching across his face. "We're here to see Joanna."  
  
"She's out with her grandfather, grocery shopping." Mrs. Christenson looked from Xander to Dawn, one raven eyebrow creasing her forehead. "Are you friends of hers from school?"  
  
"No, ma'am." Dawn held out a pamphlet. "We're from the Helsing Institute in Cleveland. It's the newest branch of the Council Girls School in Oxford, England."  
  
Mrs. Christenson took the pamphlet, looking it over. "You're recruiting, then?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Xander slid his abandoned right hand back into his pocket. "I'm Xander Harris, and this is Dawn Summers. Joanna was brought to our attention by the, er, admissions board. We're very excited to meet her, and hope she'll consider the Institute to continue her, er, studies."  
  
"Come on inside then," Mrs. Christenson stepped to one side, and the cats swirled to follow her movements. "Have a seat in the living room, and tell me more about your institution."  
  
Moments later, Xander and Dawn were seated on a beautiful brown leather couch. Mrs. Christenson brought them both drinks, and sat down in a wooden chair across from them.   
  
"I've never heard of the Helsing Institute, or the . . . what was it? The Council School?"  
  
Xander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and running through the cover story that Giles had worked out for them. The school had to have a public face, and the fact that the Watcher's Council had been working a similar plan for years was their only advantage. "The Council School for Girls is one of the oldest institutions in England. It's a very elite institution devoted to helping young women with certain qualities to reach their full potential. The Helsing Institute has just been founded to bring the same advantages that the Council School has been offering English girls to America."  
  
"I see." Mrs. Christenson glanced down at the pamphlet. "How large is your enrollment?"  
  
"We only have about thirty girls in attendance, right now." Dawn sipped her hot chocolate. "Ages ranging from fourteen to eighteen. But we hope to have as many as one thousand by the beginning of the next school year, ranging from as young as eight to college aged girls."  
  
"And you want Joanna to attend next year?" Mrs. Christenson sat back. "She's seventeen years old, in her junior year. I don't know if its best that she leave home now."  
  
"Actually, Mrs. Christenson," Xander took a deep breath. They had to convince the woman to let Joanna go. "We were hoping to have her transfer in this semester. Joanna is a very special young woman, and we think she'd benefit greatly from the program that the Helsing Institute has to offer."  
  
"Please understand, Mr. Harris,"  
  
"Call me Xander."  
  
"Xander then, that Joanna has had a very tough time recently. Her parents passed away only a few years ago, and my husband and I are the only family she has left. We want her to have all the advantages she can, and that includes as normal a home life as possible."  
  
"Of course, Mrs. Christenson. We understand that often times family is one of the best things for a girl to have. But at the Helsing Institute she'll be given opportunities to understand herself and improve the world that she'll never have here in Bethesda."  
  
Dawn set her mug down, glancing at Xander. "I know what its like to lose your parents, ma'am." She swallowed, and caught Xander's worried look. "My own mother died two years ago, and my father abandoned my sister and I before that. But the students and staff at the Institute are like a family. The girls all share a special bond, and Xander and the rest of the staff are all wonderful, caring confidants. They don't just look out for the students' academic well being, but for their mental and social health as well."  
  
Mrs. Christenson patted Dawn's hand, and let her eyes drift over to a photograph of a cheerful young woman, her arms around an older couple, obviously the girl's parents. "Joanna is a special girl," she looked back at the two on the couch in front of her. "But she doesn't make friends easily. She needs a stable life, with people she knows."  
  
"Or perhaps she needs to be around girls her own age, who understand and are going through the same life changes that she herself is experiencing."  
  
"I just don't know, Ms. . . Dawn. Cleveland is so far away from everything she's ever known."  
  
Xander tapped the pamphlet in her hands. "I understand. But many of the girls have traveled from as far away as Ireland, and even China. Please, take the time to review the information, and talk to your husband about it. I think you'll find that the Helsing Institute is a wonderful opportunity for Joanna, one where she'll be able to get out and see the world, and perhaps form the friendships she'll need to survive in the real world."  
  
Mrs. Christenson sighed. "We will, of course. But we don't have that much money, and with Joanna going off to college in only a little while. . . ."  
  
"We're prepared to offer her a full scholarship, including transportation costs. We'll be in town for a week, so don't hesitate to call us if you have any questions."  
  
"Of course." Mrs. Christenson stood, the interview obviously coming to an end. "Thank you, Xander, Dawn. I hope you enjoy your time in our area."  
  
The front door opened again, and a deeply tanned, healthy older man came in, holding two paper sacks. "Allison, we're home!" He turned, spotted the visitors, and froze. "Oh. Hello."  
  
"Marcus, these are Xander Harris and Dawn Summers, from the Helsing Institute in Cleveland."  
  
A young woman with brown hair pulled back in a bun burst in behind Marcus, two sacks in each arm, with three more cloth bags dangling from her left elbow. Xander smiled, spotting the gossamer mist that swirled around her body, announcing to him that this was Joanna, the slayer. Of course, the fact that there was no humanly way a girl of her size, only five feet tall and slightly built, could ever have handled the load she was carrying with ease, was also a tell tale sign.  
  
"They'd like Joanna to attend their school."  
  
"I already go to school, Grandma!" Joanna bustled past her grandfather on the way to the kitchen.   
  
"I know dear," Mrs. Christenson stood to follow her family into the kitchen, then turned back to Xander. "Wait here just a moment, Xander. I'll see if she'd like to talk with you."  
  
Xander and Dawn sat back down on the couch, finishing their beverages.   
  
"Well, that could have gone better," Dawn set her now empty mug down.   
  
"We got our foot in the door, and our cover story out. If we convince Joanna to go, her grandmother will let her." Xander turned to face his friend. "You didn't have to bring up your mother."  
  
"No, but I think it helped."  
  
"Yeah, I think so too."  
  
Joanna came out of the kitchen and leaned against the doorway to the living room. "I have a project to do for history over in Cabin John." She crossed her arms over her chest; she didn't look very enthusiastic. "Gran says you should drive me there."  
  
end part 1 


	3. the Marble Steps part 2

Author's note: As I said, the story is my father's, though I've embellished it a bit, and rearranged some facts so it would fit better into the narrative. I've written it out here as it would be told around a campfire by a professional story teller.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 1: The Marble Steps  
  
Part two  
  
"So," Joanna climbed out of the back seat, facing a set of tennis courts. "What you're trying to tell me is that vampires are real, so are other assorted evil things, and that I'm part of some sort of . . . sorority of girls who can fight them?"  
  
"Pretty much." Xander locked the car door.   
  
"And this 'Helsing Institute' is really some sort of, what, training facility?"  
  
"Well," Dawn bounced up the hill toward the courts. "Yeah, but its also a real school. We're just still working on getting real teachers to teach all the non-slayer-y subjects."  
  
"Helsing Institute." Joanna frowned. "You mean like, Van Helsing? The Dracula guy?"  
  
"Yeah." Xander shrugged apologetically. "We had a long debate over names, and somehow the geekier side won. Hence the pun. But the Watchers' Diaries show that there wasn't really any Van Helsing to help defeat Dracula, that was Bram Stoker's own improvement."  
  
"So there really is a Dracula."  
  
"He turned Xander into his bug-eating slave. And he still owed our friend Spike a bunch of money. Well, he did, anyway, before Spike . . . ."  
  
"Dawn, for the last time," Xander had loosened his tie and collar, but now that he was back out in the open air, he wished he hadn't. It was very cold. "Spike wasn't our friend. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't always have to bring up the bug thing."  
  
"You guys are some kind of con artists, aren't you. And now you're trying to convince MY grandparents to let me wander off with you." Joanna drew herself up to her full, five foot height, her hands clenching. "I warn you, I'm stronger than I look, and if you try anything funny–"  
  
"That's the point, Joanna." Xander pulled a knife out of his pocket. He REALLY hadn't wanted to do this. His knife throwing wasn't that good. "You're stronger than you look. A LOT stronger." He flung the knife at her head.  
  
Joanna spun-kicked it out of the air, sending it careening into the tennis courts, and a moment later had Xander pinned to the snow. "I knew it. I knew you'd try something! I–"  
  
"Kicked a speeding knife right out of the air and took down a guy twice your size without breaking a sweat." Xander put his hands up, in the snow beside his head. He could feel ice coating his back. "You think every seventeen year old can do that?"  
  
"I take self defense classes."  
  
"And they taught you that?" Xander gestured vaguely toward Joanna's fist, which was curled around a stick she was pressing against his chest. From the look on her face, she had no idea she had picked it up.  
  
"Noooo," Joanna sat back a little, frowning at the six inch, blunt weapon. "I just . . . grabbed the first weapon I could . . . ."  
  
"I notice that the knife didn't seem to count. Wanna know why you automatically went for something made of wood?"  
  
"Who are you?!"  
  
"I'm Xander Harris. I'm a carpenter, a recruiter for the Helsing Institute for Slayers, and I'm someone who can tell you why, in May, you suddenly had a burst of power."  
  
Joanna stood and backed away from him. She shot nervous glances at Dawn, who made no move to approach. "And you're another one of the, what, vampire slayers?"  
  
"Nope." Dawn grinned. "We thought for a little while I might be, but I'm just research girl, mostly. I used to be some sort of mystical ball of key energy, but that was a few years ago. My sister's a slayer though. Actually, she used to be THE Slayer, but now she teaches advanced techniques at the school."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Look," Xander shoved himself awkwardly to his feet. "It's weird, I know. It's hard to believe, I know that too. When I first found out about vampires and slayers, I thought it was one big joke, or just a girl's delusion. But you learn real fast when you're suddenly confronted with the forces of darkness trying to eat you."  
  
"Just remember this:" Dawn walked slowly up to the girl, her hands held out to either side, empty. "You've been chosen by the powers that be to help normal people live normal lives, and to help keep darkness from destroying the world. But you're lucky. You don't have to do it alone. We've got a full school of slayers and watchers to help you along the way. We can take you out tonight, to see first hand what kind of oogities really are out there, but for right now," Dawn glanced around. "Didn't you have a history project to do?"  
  
"Yeah." Joanna seemed to deflate. "Probably going to fail it now, I'm getting so caught up in this supernatural forces business."  
  
"And since that's our fault," Xander ineffectually tried to brush some of the snow off his pants. "We'd better help you out. What's the project on?"  
  
"We're supposed to pick a local legend, look into the history of it, and explain how it came to grow out of the community and a historical mind set."  
  
Xander looked around at the tiny, 50's era prefabricated houses that lined the street across from them. "So, what legend are we going with here?"  
  
"This is Cabin John," Joanna smiled faintly. "My mother's parents used to live here. It was built after World War II to give housing to war veterans. A lot of the vets still live around here, but Mom's parents moved out when she was a teenager. She used to tell me a story when I was little, and some of the story is still in the woods around here." Joanna grimaced. "I was going to interview some families, see if they know the story, and what they think of it. But now, it seems kind of–"  
  
"Trivial?" Dawn smiled.  
  
"No, scary." Joanna shot another look into the woods, then glanced at Xander who was starting to shiver. "Let's go. You need to change, and I know a good place where we can sit and talk."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"It goes like this." Joanna sat with Xander and Dawn in a booth of the Tastee Diner in downtown Bethesda. She picked at her french fries. "Back when my grandparents moved into Cabin John, there was already an old woman living there, in the woods. The government had tried to get her to move away, or into one of their own houses, but she wouldn't budge. She said she'd lived in her home since the depression, that her husband had built it himself for her and their pet, and that she couldn't leave. So the government just built up the community around her, and as people do, the families started to tell stories about the old hermit woman and her mysterious behavior. They called the little shack she lived in 'the Marble Steps', because the stairs that led to the front door were filled with glass marbles. Her husband hadn't been able to afford much by way of real concrete, so he had to use the marbles for filler material."  
  
Xander smiled. Joanna was starting to warm up, get into the flow of her story. He noticed that as she did, the silver that swam through the air around her seemed to pick up an extra sparkle. This girl was a storyteller in the manner of the ancients, and she loved her work.  
  
"Every morning and afternoon, the old woman would come out of her house with a sack and a large walking stick," she held up a french fry, "and used the staff to knock" she tapped the fry on the side of her plate, and loosely, in the air "on all the bushes and trees that surrounded her home, scaring out all the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things, which she'd gather up into her sack. Then she'd take the rabbits, and the birds, and the squirrels and things back into her house. It was the only time she came out, and no one could figure out what she did with them. Most thought she cooked them for food, but she was a little, crooked figure and surely couldn't have eaten the large number of animals she caught every day. She had no family, and she had no visitors, but every morning and every afternoon, when the sun was halfway up or down the sky, she'd gather up the forest and bring it into her home.  
  
"Now, Cabin John was becoming quite a little community, with war vets bringing their wives and their families in, and pitching in to build tennis courts and playgrounds for the children to use. Everyone knew everyone else, and it was a rare night that you didn't get to at least see, if not speak to, all of your neighbors. And the favorite topic was always the old woman and her sack. Wild stories spread, as people claimed she was a witch, or a maniac; that she had her husband tied down to the bed and would force feed him the animals, or use them in her satanic practices. Speculations flew, but no one ever went over to the old woman's house, so no one knew what she could possibly have in there.  
  
"Popular theory soon grew that she had jewels in there, an enormous wealth from her husband, who was by theory either a thief and a bandit, or a war vet like the men of the town, who had brought home thousands of dollars in art and jewelry from Germany. The woman had to be living on something, after all, she had to have money, and no one ever saw her work. The stories of her fortune grew more extravagant and more unlikely every day, until one night, under a new moon and a cloudless sky, three robbers hatched a plan to break into the old woman's place, and find those riches.  
  
"They didn't have anything to fear, they thought, since she was such an elderly woman, and surely didn't have much by way of a security system. They hadn't even heard any dogs or guard animals in the area. So they snuck through the woods to the Marble Steps, and crouched in the shadows on the leeside of the hill.   
  
"Two of them were to break in, it was decided, as the neighborhood had an excellent watch system set up by the old soldiers, and someone would need to stay outside and keep watch. The youngest of the robbers, a man by the name of Carl, was picked to remain in the woods. If he saw someone coming, he would make an owl's call to let them know, and they would sneak down to the creek at the bottom of the hill, so that no dogs would be able to track them. The two others crept up to the front door, and slipped inside. The door wasn't even locked!"  
  
Joanna paused, and took a long sip of her ice water. Her burger was still entirely untouched, as were Xander's and Dawn's. None of them wanted to move and break the flow of the story.  
  
"The next day, Carl was found wandering down the streets of Cabin John, his clothing wet and ripped, making the owl's call over and over again, mournfully. He walked right up to the police station and turned himself in, asking only that they find out what had happened to his friends. They had never come back out of the Marble Steps, and Carl had stayed until the sun was halfway up the sky, and the old woman came out to knock" again the french fry waved "on the trees and the bushes, and gather up the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things. She saw Carl crouching there, in the leeside of the hill, and when their eyes met," Joanna paused, and caught Xander's eye. "She SMILED."  
  
Xander flinched back unconsciously. Joanna was smiling at him, and it was an evil look. A moment later she looked back down at her french fries.  
  
"Of course the police investigated, but when they called round to the old woman's house, it was a most peculiar thing. She had no recollection of a break in, and gladly gave the policemen a tour, which didn't take long. The house was tiny, only one room with a cot in the corner and a table in the center. There wasn't even any evidence of the countless animals she'd brought in over the years, just the walking stick and the sack, next to the bed. Carl was released into the care of a local asylum, and everyone assumed that he was nuts. The other two were never seen or heard from again.  
  
"Time passed, and the veterans grew older and their families grew larger, and their children went off to college and some went off to war. It was the late sixties, and Vietnam was making the big news, and slowly, talk of the old woman, her house in the woods, and the robbers died down into legend. Two young boys, friends of my mother, or so she tells me, heard the story from their scout master one evening around a campfire on the C&O canal. The next week at school, the old woman was all they could talk about. The stories came out again, and Cabin John was once again full of talk of the Marble Steps.   
  
"Well, these two being boy scouts, they felt it was their duty to go and investigate this anti-American old woman in the woods. They watched her from afar as every day she came out of her house with a sack and a long walking stick, and knocked on the trees and on the bushes and scared out all the rabbits and birds and squirrels and things and gathered them up in her sack. They counted 250 different animals being brought in over three days, and knew that they had to find out where those animals went. So one afternoon, as the sun slid halfway down the sky and the old woman gathered her animals and returned to her house, they crept silently behind her, and up to the only window.  
  
"What they saw inside was just as the police had seen, at first. There was the cot in the corner, and there the table in the center of the room. They watched her walk to the table, eager to see an old woman gut and skin and maybe sacrifice the animals on its wooden, scarred surface. But the old woman slid the table aside with an ease that belied its weight, and took her staff and drew" She ran her french fry staff through the ketchup on her plate "a small square, two feet by two feet, along the concrete floor.   
  
"The square, when she was done, dropped away to reveal a hole, darker than that moonless robber night, and they watched as she dumped the animals from the sack into the hole. Her back was to the window, and she never saw the wide mouthed boys as the hole closed back up over the animals, and the old woman slid the table back into place.   
  
"No one believed the boys' tale, of course, it was just youthful hyperbole, a new, and somewhat placid addition to a favorite boy scout story. A few more years passed, and the boys grew and moved away from home, and my mother's family moved on as well, and no one heard much from the old woman again, until the early seventies.  
  
"By this time, it was said, the woman had to be in her nineties if not older, and the state began to worry for the obviously senile citizen in the woods. They sent officials in to gather her up and move her to Sibley hospital, where my mother worked as an orderly. But when they went to the house, the old woman refused to budge. 'I can't leave,' she told them. 'I have to feed my pet.' Well, they searched the house, what little there was to search, and found no trace of any pet of any kind, and soon decided that it was simply an elderly delusion. They assured her the pet would be cared for, and finally she agreed to go with them.  
  
"Every night in the hospital, when my mother would bring the woman her dinner and her medication, the old woman would thrash and fight and insist that she be allowed to go home. 'I have to feed my pet!' she'd say, and my mother would nod, and assure her that her pet was well cared for, and doing well, and missed her terribly, and the woman would calm down, take her medications, and soon fell asleep.  
  
"This went on for nearly a year, as my mother met my father and began plans to marry him. She'd bring the woman her food, the woman would say 'I have to feed my pet!', and Mom would assure her that everything was fine. Then, on the one year anniversary of the woman being brought in, she lay dying in her hospital bed, and my mother, who'd developed quite a fondness for the kook who loved her imaginary companion, sat by her bedside through the afternoon, reading her books and singing her songs. As the sun passed the horizon, the woman opened her eyes, caught my mother's arm, and pulled her in close. There was fear in the woman's eyes, and an utmost urgency in her voice as she whispered in my mother's ear: 'Don't let it get out!'  
  
"That night, a terrible storm swept through the DC area, taking out power lines and flooding low lying neighborhoods. Several trees were pulled down, and the high winds across the hillside ripped the old shack from its foundation, hurling it down into the raging creek below. Lightning shot from the sky, striking the concrete floor and splitting it violently down the middle."  
  
Joanna bit the end off her french fry and swallowed, her eyes sparkling.  
  
"And 'it' got out."  
  
end part two 


	4. the Marble Steps part 3

Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 1: the Marble Steps  
  
Part Three  
  
"What was it?"  
  
The group at the diner was picking lightly at their now cold burgers. Xander was considering the consequences of helping Joanna find whatever it was in the woods, and of ignoring the problem and just getting her, as well as Dawn and himself, the hell out of there. Joanna was staring at the square she'd marked out in her ketchup while telling the story. Dawn was still caught up in the tale.  
  
"That's just it," Joanna smeared the square away with another french fry. "Mom wouldn't say. I don't think she knew. And Cabin John is as quiet as any metro area community. I guess I always thought that she'd made it up, but when the class project came up, I thought it would be a great idea to look into it. But what if it's real? I mean, if I'm some sort of mystical force of good, does that mean I have to go fight it?"  
  
Xander sighed and slapped his credit card down on top of the bill. It wouldn't be right to leave the thing out there, if it was real. "Not yet, you wouldn't." He looked back up at Joanna, who had tears leaking at the corners of her eyes. "We don't know enough about it, if it does exist, going after it now would be a death sentence. And while there's all sorts of wacky fun to be had in the midst of a battle, there is a sort of process we can follow before we get there. Right now, I suggest you keep working on the project. Research is the key now."  
  
"Damn." Joanna smiled, but it didn't come close to seeming real. "I knew I shouldn't have procrastinated. I was just going to take pictures of the foundation, tell the story to the class, and then bull shit something about how it developed out of a post-war mentality. Hell, I don't even know where to start."  
  
Dawn blinked. "Well, um, grade wise? You could still do that. Xander and I can help on the research front. Though I don't suppose your local library has a very good occult section."  
  
"You guys would–" Joanna rubbed at her eyes. "Hell, I'm still not certain you're not a couple of con artists taking advantage of a confused teen."  
  
"Tell ya what," Xander pulled his coat back on. "We'll head back to Cabin John. Show us this foundation, take whatever pictures you want, then go and interview a couple of residents, if you can. Dawn and I will hit the books, see what we can find out about any supernatural stuff in the area. That way, you can still get the info you need for your project, and don't have to expose yourself too a couple of frauds while you're at it." He tossed her a card with their cellphone number on it, along with a bit of change. "Give us a call when you need a ride back to your place, and we'll set up a meeting time to discuss anything we may have found."  
  
Joanna pocketed the card, but left the change. "I've got a cell. Jesus, I don't know what to think any more. You people really are the masters of mind fuck, aren't you."  
  
"Oh, you don't know the half of it." Xander stood. "You coming?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm in. I don't know what I'm in, but I'm in."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"That's a really small crack." Dawn cocked her head to one side, staring down at the ten foot by ten foot concrete foundation that jutted from the side of the hill. She glanced down the hill. "And that's a really small creek."  
  
The crack was nothing more than you might find in a sidewalk, though it stretched the entire distance across the diagonal of the concrete. Xander stood a short distance off, peering through the trees and checking the surrounding area.   
  
"I don't see any tracks, or blood, or dead animals, or anything that would indicate something with the appetite of the thing in the story." He was starting to feel hopeful. Buffy had allowed them only one mystery, and if it turned out to be a campfire tale, all the better.   
  
"If this thing is supernatural," Joanna held out her digital camera, snapping shot after shot of the steps and the foundation. "Then it wouldn't have needed any more of a crack than that, right? And maybe it swallows its prey whole?"  
  
"Could be." Dawn stepped back a bit. "Man, home schooling is looking less and less like such a good thing. I could be home right now, in my own private room with my own private bed, doing math homework."  
  
"In a school on top of the hellmouth." Xander smirked at her. "Cause we both know what a wonderland ride that is."  
  
"Right," Joanna stuck her camera in her pocket. "This esoteric show you guys do? No longer cute. What's a hellmouth?"  
  
"A mouth to hell," Dawn shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
"There was one in our home town in California." Xander kicked aside a bit of snow. "Figures that in a state that would elect the terminator, they'd decide to build the high school right over it. Twice."  
  
"Huh." Joanna started back up the hill. "Wonder if my high school's on one too? That would certainly explain a lot."  
  
"Does your school have an obituary section in the yearbook bigger than the sports section?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Any disappearing girls, Frankenstein-wanna-be Biology club members?" Xander stumbled a bit in the snow, but quickly regained his balance.   
  
"Dead kids living under the bathroom?" Dawn grabbed hold of one of the smaller trees as her feet sunk a good six inches into an unexpected drift.  
  
"No." Joanna, used to snow, was having no trouble leading the way back to the car. "But my Spanish teacher might be the devil."  
  
"Well, I can almost definitely promise that your teachers at the Helsing Institute won't be demonically influenced." Xander paused. "Well, not often, at least. Though your computer teacher did once try to destroy the world, but she thought she was doing the right thing."  
  
"Oh yeah," Joanna muttered. "This school of yours keeps getting better and better."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"Xander, check this out." Dawn was seated at a microfiche machine tucked into the back corner of the Bethesda library. She had three boxes of film from various local newspapers dating back to the thirties on the desk beside her.  
  
"Whatcha got?" Xander was flipping through more recent, hard copies of the Washington Post, but getting nowhere. The stories of corrupt politicians though, were starting to remind him too much of Mayor Wilkins.  
  
"Three disappearances in Cabin John on January 15th, 1934."  
  
"Okay,"  
  
"And look at these." Dawn handed him several printouts she'd made of other articles. She was starting to run low on dimes.   
  
Xander flipped through the grainy copies. "Two missing, July 8th, 1979. Four in January of 1984. Three in July, '89 . . . ."  
  
"Noticing a pattern?"  
  
Xander glanced at the other dates and headlines. "Every five years, in either January or July. From '79 to '99. Always two to four people, always residents of Cabin John."  
  
"And now again in '34. The records don't go any earlier than that, but I bet the pattern continues back for years."  
  
"There's no way that we're the first to notice this. The pattern is too even."  
  
"Not necessarily. On the edge of a city the size of DC?"  
  
"Still," Xander flipped through the copies once again. "They probably wouldn't blame a supernatural creature though. Did you find anything from the story?"  
  
"Not yet. But think about it. 35 years without the disappearances, with the possible exception of the two robbers in the sixties. From the thirties, right in the middle of the depression, when the woman's husband supposedly built the house, to the end of the seventies, around the time when the story says the woman died."  
  
"Try and find the night of the storm."  
  
Dawn sighed. They'd been at it for hours already, and her eyes were starting to hurt. "Xander, it took me forever just to find this much. It's Sunday evening. Can't we take a break? Even God doesn't work on Sundays."  
  
"And evil never takes a vacation. Damn that evil." Xander shoved his pile of papers away. "Check '64 and '69 at least, see if you can find anything on the robbers."   
  
"Did Willow have any news?" Dawn turned back to her work station.   
  
"Yeah, our next slayer is in Florida. At least we'll be warm."  
  
"Goody for us."  
  
Xander's cell rang, eliciting dirty looks from the nearby librarian. He answered it quickly.  
  
"I got something." It was Joanna. "A couple of the families have been here since the community was built. My mom definitely didn't make the story up."  
  
"We'll meet you back at the tennis courts in about fifteen minutes. We might have something too."  
  
"Okay, but you'd better be quick, and then take me home. Gran's starting to get ornery about how long I've been out."  
  
"Do you have school tomorrow?"  
  
"Nah, MLK Day. I'll meet you guys at the Tastee Diner around noon."  
  
"You don't need a ride?"  
  
"I'll tell Gran I'm meeting a study buddy. I don't think she's too keen on me sticking around you guys for too long, she seems to think you'll steal me away from her."  
  
"Well, since that's the general plan, I'd hate to disappoint her."  
  
There was a long silence on the other end. "If this turns out to be true, that means I have to go with you guys, doesn't it."  
  
"It's up to you, Joanna." Xander scratched at his cheek. His eyes, especially the prosthetic, were beginning to burn as well. "But after awhile, the demons will start homing in on you. I'm not going to lie, your best bet would be to head to Cleveland."  
  
"Right. Bye."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Joanna was bouncing up and down by the time they made it to the tennis courts. She ran at the car before it even pulled to a stop.  
  
"Jesus Christ, I thought you said fifteen minutes!"  
  
Xander shrugged apologetically. "We got lost. A lot. I think we were in Virginia for a little while."  
  
"Whatever, just get me home!" Joanna hopped in, pulling her coat tighter around herself and tucking her hands under her thighs. "What'd ya find?"  
  
Dawn launched into a quick explanation of the five year, January/July pattern. Joanna grimaced.   
  
"Seems that way on this end too. Carl was on the streets in January, '64. And Mrs. Johns said that the reason the land went so cheap to the government was that a lot of the people in the area thought it was cursed. She said that the stories of a monster in the woods go back as far as the eighteenth century." Joanna watched the trees fly by for a moment, then bashed her hand against the window, cracking it. Xander nearly swerved off the road. "Shit!"  
  
"What?" Xander dragged the car back to its rightful place. "What? What?"  
  
"It's January. 2004. I haven't seen any disappearance stories in the paper or anything. Which means . . . ."  
  
"That thing is hungry." Dawn watched out the her window as well, trying to figure out how long it would take to get to the trunk and retrieve their weapons should they be attacked. The sun was setting.  
  
They drove on in silence for awhile, doing a fair bit over the speed limit to get back to the Christenson house. As they pulled up to the curb by the lighted stairs, Joanna finally spoke.  
  
"I'll, um, pay for that window."  
  
end part three 


	5. the Marble Steps part 4

Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 1: the Marble Steps  
  
Part Four  
  
"Okay, so we've got a definite pattern, going back a hundred years or so. We've got a foundation in the woods, and an unidentified monster running around. What the hell do we do now?" Joanna was gesturing wildly, and in danger of knocking over her soda.  
  
"Well, we've pretty much done the local research that we can." Xander pulled her soda away from her flailing arms. "I put in a call to the Cleveland folks, they're looking into any demons known to have that sort of feeding pattern, that might be able to fit through a one inch crack in the ground. But until we know exactly what it is we're facing, there's not a lot we can do."  
  
"Great. Just great." Joanna put her head in her hands. "It could be eating people as we speak. It could have grabbed someone last night, and we wouldn't know it because it takes twenty four hours for people to officially go missing." She glanced up. "Is it wrong that I kinda hope it'll eat its fill and we won't have to worry about it anymore for a couple years?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "No, that just means you're human."  
  
"But I'm not human. I'm some sort of slayer thingy!"  
  
"Slayers are humans." Dawn reached across the table to grab Joanna's hands. "That's the point. They're humans with a little extra, but in the end, it's the humans who do the dirty, saving the world work, not any heavenly beings."  
  
"That's dumb."  
  
"Maybe, but it's true."  
  
Joanna glanced out the window at the traffic going by. "And no one out there knows about this stuff but you guys? How can people spend their entire lives in a world full of evil demons and not notice?"  
  
"Well, Sunnydale tended to opt for 'gang members of PCP', mostly. People get really, really good at repressing things they don't want to know about." Xander folded his straw. "We once got a group of twenty or so women who were under the influence of a love spell to believe that they'd been participating in a scavenger hunt."  
  
"Sunnydale?" Joanna's eyes went wide. "You're from SUNNYDALE? As in, the town that is now a giant crater in California? The Sunnydale that now lends credence to the idea that California's going to sink into the sea?"  
  
Xander grimaced. "That's the one."  
  
"Wow." Joanna sat back. "Then it wasn't an earthquake?"  
  
"Just the destructive powers of the First Evil, an army of super vampires, another of slayers, and a vampire with a mystical amulet and a soul."  
  
"Vampires don't have souls?"  
  
"Anne Rice is a dirty rotten liar. Only one has one. For a bit there were two, but its back to just the one. He's in LA, he might come by to do guest lectures in Cleveland if he ever gets time off from reforming an evil law firm."  
  
Joanna laughed. "You people sound like a soap opera. Wait, that happened back in May. Around the same time as–"  
  
"EXACTLY the same time that you got your slayer powers." Dawn stirred her soda. "Our friend Willow, she's a witch, did a massive spell to get all the potential slayers to get a hold of their powers. That way, instead of two slayers and a bunch of very well trained normal girls battling an army of ubervamps, we had an army of slayers. That's why Xander and I are out here, we have to find all the extra slayers we can, so they can be trained and protected."  
  
"Two slayers? But I thought you said that there was a Chosen ONE."  
  
"That's a very long story that will probably be covered in a class at the Institute, if you're interested." Xander shifted on the naugahide bench. Joanna's slayer essence kept fluctuating along with her mood, and it was starting to give him a headache. "But Dawn's sister is one of the longest living slayers in history."  
  
"You know," Joanna stirred her ice around, staring at it as though fascinated. "I don't even know if I'll be any good at being a slayer. What if I go out to Cleveland, and it turns out I suck? Or that I'm not even really a slayer, I'm just strong? What if I only got, like, half the slayerness, what if . . . what if I don't want to be a slayer?"  
  
"Too late." Xander closed his eyes. "You ARE a slayer. And even if you don't try to use your abilities, the bad stuff will find you. If you're not properly prepared–" He rubbed his prosthetic, then regretted it as it shifted uncomfortably in his eye socket. "If you're not prepared, you'll probably get killed."  
  
"But how do you KNOW? Sure, you've got this . . . coven thing looking around, but they're all the way in England. What if they found the wrong girl?"  
  
"I know. I knew the moment I saw you. And the coven has a long history of pinpointing potential slayers. Now that the power has been released, its gotten even easier."  
  
"You could SEE it?" Joanna looked skeptical. "Somehow, that's the most farfetched thing you've told me yet. I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Normal Guy in the group."  
  
"I am." Xander moved his hand back up to his eye. "I've just . . . ." He paused, and Dawn started to take over for him, but he waved her off. "There was this . . . preacher. He was a pawn of the First. We went to try and take him out, and he . . . ." He couldn't even say it. Even after everything that had happened, he still couldn't say what Caleb had done. He could crack jokes, pretend it didn't suck, but when it came down to it, he couldn't say what actually happened.  
  
"He stuck his thumb in Xander's eye." Dawn stared at her food.  
  
"Oh." Joanna looked ill. "Oh. God."  
  
"Yeah." Xander's breath came in shakily, but his voice was steady. "I was a cyclops for awhile there, until I got my glass eye. Willow enchanted it, and now I don't have a big honkin' blind spot on my left side any more. And I can see the slayer essence." He leaned forward, his hand hovering a few inches to one side of Joanna's face. "You're definitely a slayer, Joanna. I'm sorry, but it's true."  
  
For a long time, none of them spoke. The waitress brought the bill, giving them an odd look. Once again, Joanna broke the silence.  
  
"You can't tell, though. It's a really good one. The, um, eye, I mean. It looks real. It's–"  
  
"Okay, Joanna." Xander smiled, and pulled out his credit card. "I'm getting used to it. Comes with the territory, I guess. I was lucky. I fought for seven years before I lost my eye."  
  
Joanna snickered, then blushed furiously. "Oh God. I'm a bad person. I just keep thinking: 'it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye . . . ."  
  
Xander smiled back. "And then it's fun with no depth perception."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Dawn sat on her hotel bed, working trigonometry equations for Wood's "home school" assignment. Xander lay back on his, pretending to watch tv, but really staring at the phone, willing it to ring. Joanna had gone home hours ago, to work on her project and talk to her Gran about letting her go to Cleveland. Xander was waiting for one of two things: a call from Gran, probably to yell at him for corrupting her granddaughter, or a call from Willow to let them know what they were probably up against.  
  
He tried threatening the phone, ordering it to ring mentally, promising swift retribution from the morning star of needless bloodshed if it didn't. He tried pleading with the phone, he tried bargaining with it, promising spiffy new ring tones and text messaging. He tried whistling to himself, pretending to ignore it in hopes that he would look away and it would start ringing so he could pounce on it. He was considering the idea of coming on to the phone when it finally rang.  
  
It was a local number, which meant either Gran or Joanna.  
  
"Hello?" He tried really hard not to sound like he had been about to offer sexual favors to a four inch wireless phone, but he doubted it had worked.  
  
"Mr. Harris." It was Gran. She did not sound happy. "Where is my granddaughter?"  
  
Xander sat up straight too quickly, and had to let himself settle back again for a moment before he answered. "I haven't seen her, Mrs. Christenson. My colleague and I are–"  
  
"Perhaps you can explain to me, young man," Gran spoke well over him, which was good because Xander wasn't sure what to say he and Dawn were doing at that moment. Somehow, he didn't think "waiting by the phone for information on a demon that your granddaughter is about to battle" would work very well. "Why Joanna would be sneaking out of her bedroom on a school night, and leaving a good-bye note on her pillow for my husband and I?"  
  
Oh, shit. "Mrs. Christenson, I honestly don't know. Joanna would never have run off to join our school without consulting you first." But she might have run off to Cabin John. And from the sound of the note, she didn't think she'd be coming back.   
  
"I think I know rather better than you what my granddaughter is capable of, Mr. Harris. If you do not find her and bring her back to us, we WILL be pressing charges. I honestly thought you might be interested in her welfare, but you're a no good crook, aren't you. You and that Summers girl are running quite a racket, I'm sure, luring young women away from their families with a false school."  
  
"Ma'am, I assure you, the Helsing Institute–"  
  
"Is not listed on any records that my husband and I have found. And your Watcher's School for Girls closed its doors last year, after the deaths of several of its students and faculty members. I don't know what it is you're trying to pull, or what you want Joanna for, but I swear to God–"  
  
"Ma'am, our school has only been running for six months. I'm aware of what happened in Oxford, and I think you'll find, should you look, that there is a perfectly logical explanation for the deaths provided by Interpol. Now, I do intend to go look for Joanna, and make sure she's alright, and I will bring her right back to you as soon as I find her. Perhaps then we can discuss your doubts about the Institute in a less threateny fashion?"  
  
Oh, good one Harris. That sounded very professional. Is "threateny" even a word?  
  
"We shall see, Mr. Harris. I'm calling the police. I suggest you bring home my granddaughter home before they do."  
  
She hung up. Dawn was staring at him, wide eyed from her bed. "That wasn't what I thought it was, was it?"  
  
"Grab the extra weapons, and put on some shoes." Xander was already half way to the door, pulling on his coat. "Joanna's gone after the thing in the woods."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Joanna's foot prints lead along side of their own from earlier in the day, straight to the foundation in the woods. As they crossed the tennis courts, they could hear her screaming.  
  
"Come on, you-you-WHATEVER! Come and get me! I know you're getting hungry! How's about some prime slayer meat to sate your appetite?"  
  
"She's the only girl I've ever heard who can use the word 'sate' while threatening a demon." Xander swung the battle axe up onto his shoulder, and broke out into a run. Dawn was not far behind, carrying a long sword.  
  
"She's insane!"  
  
"I thought I covered that with the 'sate' thing!"  
  
"Come and get me, you ASSHOLE!"  
  
"Joanna!" Xander spotted her through the trees, holding a long, stiff branch that had been inexpertly sharpened to a point. Dammit, she didn't even have a decent weapon. Xander sincerely doubted that thing was a vampire. "I really hope beheading will kill this thing, cause if not, we're so much dead meat."  
  
"We should . . ." Dawn was panting a little ways behind him, winded from trying to run in the snow. "We should have called . . . Buffy. We need . . . a trans . . . location!"  
  
"We need to know what this thing is." Xander tripped over a hidden branch, nearly decapitating himself with the axe. "Joanna! Dammit, get over here!"  
  
"I'm gonna take the bastard out, Xander!" She was spinning, swinging her branch at nothing. "I figured it out. They said they were just going camping. Everything would be" she grunted, swinging at a bush. "FINE. 19-fucking-99, July. And they NEVER came home!"  
  
"I thought her parents died in an auto accident."   
  
Xander shrugged. "The names of the missing from '99?"  
  
"I don't know, something Jewish."  
  
"Then what the hell is she babbling about?"  
  
"Xander, LOOK."  
  
Dawn was facing the other way now, her sword out in front of her. Xander shoved himself up to his elbows and turned.  
  
A hulking shape, almost like a boulder, moved through the trees. Its shape seemed to flatten as it slithered from one to the next, thinning out into a mist like substance, then hulking again behind a new set of trees. It was coming closer.  
  
"Shit. We need a call from Willow, NOW."  
  
"Joanna!" Dawn called back over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving the thing. It was maybe seventy feet away now, no make that fifty, and closing. "Get back to the car!" Dawn took her own advice and bolted. Xander shoved himself to his knees, searching for the battle axe which had sunk into the snow. He glanced up. Joanna had spotted the thing (oh god, thirty feet), and was sprinting towards him.  
  
"Dammit, girl, get to the car!"  
  
"Not a chance, Normal Guy." And then she was in front of him, stick abandoned for the battle axe itself. Dawn was hovering on the edge of the woods, gesturing wildly.  
  
"Let's GO!"  
  
Xander shifted to a crouch. Fifteen feet. "You damned well better know how to use that thing!"  
  
"Oh yeah, didn't you know? They cover axes in the woman's self defense course in seventh grade."  
  
And then it was on them. Xander caught sight of teeth (Jesus Christ, those teeth, they'd be nightmares for years to come. He could see it now, Caleb poking his eye out with foot long fangs) and claws, and a maw that put t-rex to shame. He rolled to the side just as it lunged on to him, pinning his legs in the snow. Joanna swung the axe at its mouth, and it reeled back in pain, before misting and circling to get behind them.   
  
Xander grabbed Joanna's stick, and slammed it into its mouth. It shook its head for a moment, mouth held wide, then snapped it in half. It held just long enough for Joanna to get in another shot, this time towards its neck. Xander felt something thick and viscous drip onto his chest.  
  
Dawn was running back towards them now, sword swinging loosely as she held a cell phone to her ear. "Go for the eyes!"  
  
"With a frickin' AXE?"  
  
"Doesn't matter," Xander rolled again and Joanna jumped over him to stay in the creature's way. "Do whatever you can, just get the hell out of here alive."  
  
"You too, asshole." Joanna swung at its head as it misted again, this time heading for Dawn. "Shit!"  
  
"Call you back, bye Will!" Dawn tossed her cell phone behind her and raised her sword. "Come and get it, ugly!"  
  
"Dawn, you moron, get out of its way!" Joanna bolted up the hill. Xander wiped at the goo on his shirt, then regretted it as it stuck his fingers together. He rolled to his feet and stumbled after the slayer.  
  
The thing turned, misted, and charged at the unarmed member, obviously thinking its chances were better with Xander than with the girls. Which, Xander knew, was right. He dove to the side and grabbed the only thing he could think of, his Swiss army knife. Too bad he'd have to get way too close to the thing to actually use it . . . .  
  
The thing snapped at his arm. Yeah, that would do it. Xander did exactly what it didn't expect, and slammed the arm up into its mouth, stabbing into the tender flesh at the roof. Viscous blood coursed down his arm, and he snatched it back as the creature pulled away, yowling. Xander snapped his arm back against his chest, hissing at the deep scratches he'd received for his maneuver.  
  
Somehow, Dawn and Joanna had traded weapons. Joanna let out a Xena war cry and leaped at the creature, bringing the sword to bear on its black, glistening eye. She stabbed down, and the blade emerged a few inches on the other side of its head. It thrashed backwards, and she lost her grip on the hilt.  
  
It reared back, half misting and twitching spasmodically. It yelped, then whimpered, pawing at the sword sticking out of its (oh god, the left one. Dammit, why does it always have to be EYES?) skull. Its head fell with a final thud to the snow, and it sank down several inches.   
  
A wind picked up, chilling the three damp warriors through their layers of winter clothes. Xander walked slowly toward it. Dawn shouldered her battle axe, and Joanna just stood and shivered.   
  
"Are you nuts?" She hugged herself. "What about the demon's last scare, the bad guy always comes back at the end!"  
  
"Not in this story." Xander propped his foot on the demon's head. "That's only in the movies." He yanked on the sword, then fell back. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW."  
  
"You're injured!" Joanna ran up to his side.  
  
"Yeah, it happens." Xander clutched at his arm and turned to her. "Now what the hell were you yelling about back there?"  
  
"The Schoenmans. They had a daughter I used to babysit for. They went camping, and that thing . . . ."  
  
"Yeah, I get it." Xander glanced down at his arm, then back at the beast. "Um, we're gonna need that sword back, by the way."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"I," Mrs. Christenson glanced to where her husband had an arm wrapped around Joanna's shoulder. Dawn and Xander were seated on the couch once again. Xander held his arm out as Mrs. Christenson wrapped another layer of gauze across it. "I'm sorry, Xander. Mr. Giles called while you were out looking for Joanna. Your school," she shot a look at the pamphlet which lay in thin, torn strips on the coffee table. "Your school sounds like a wonderful place for Joanna."  
  
"How can we thank you?" Mr. Christenson stepped forward. "That dog would never have attacked you if you hadn't been out looking for our girl."  
  
"It's fine, sir." Xander winced as Mrs. Christenson tied off the gauze. "I just hope the ASPCA can find its owners."  
  
"How did you know she'd be there?" Mrs. Christenson smiled. "Out in Cabin John like that, god knows how she got all the way over there at this time of night,"  
  
"I was worried about the project, Gran," Joanna stepped forward. "I wanted to get a good grade on it, and impress the new teachers. I thought an, um, atmospheric picture would help out. I didn't mean for the note to be so melodramatic, but you were making such a big deal out of me leaving . . . ."  
  
"Well." Mr. Christenson pulled Dawn to her feet and shook her hand. "We're still not entirely certain about this, but if Joanna wants to go . . . . Well, there's really not much my wife and I could ever do to stop her." He gripped Xander's hand tenderly, careful of the wounds. "Thank you again for finding her. I hope to hear from you sometime, let us know how Joanna's getting along."  
  
"Of course." Xander smiled. "But Dawn and I have some other potential students to talk to. We're headed to Florida next, but Mr. Giles and Mr. Wood have promised to have someone waiting to meet Joanna at the airport in Cleveland."  
  
"Florida." Mrs. Christenson smiled. "Well, that should be lovely this time of year. Especially after you've had such a tough time in the snow. It's the sunshine state, you know."  
  
"That's exactly what we're counting on, ma'am. That's exactly it."  
  
end part four  
  
tbc in Lizard Man, coming soon. 


	6. Lizard Man part 1

Addendum to the disclaimer: Soooo, there's this site up called WeirdUS (http://http://www.weirdnj.com/__weirdus/index.html). Its got all these weird and wacky supernatural-esque stories up there from all over the country. Being a creepy tale buff, I check this site out all the time. Lizard Man is on that site.  
  
Addendum to the Author's Note: I took a glance back at WeirdNJ.com, the site that was the most major inspiration for this tale, and realized where my title came from. It's also a section header for the WNJ folks. Just an interesting little tidbit into the land of subconcious connections.  
  
Summary: A quick detour on the way to Florida. What happens when one sis slays and the other doesn't?  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 2: Lizard Man  
  
Part One  
  
Dawn was half asleep on the novel that she'd picked up on the way out of DC for Wood's correspondence English course. A print out of notes to help her get into the story lay on her feet in the passenger seat well, but even with the dim glow of the Itty-Bitty Book Light, she was having a hard time focusing on the words. As a transposed Californian, Faulkner's prose meant nothing to her, even if she and Xander WERE likely to be traveling through the south. She finally gave up on the book (only on chapter two, how could Wood expect her to have read through chapter five by tomorrow? She'd been working on it the whole trip down 95, well, when she wasn't staring blearily out the window at the passing trees. There was little else, it seemed, along side interstate 95 other than trees.  
  
The highlight of the drive so far had occurred only about an hour before, when they'd stopped under a giant, brightly lit sombrero for dinner. South of the Border had been fun to rummage through, and they'd found lot's of great post-cards and goofy presents to send back to the gang in Cleveland, but then it had been back to the old grind of more and more road passing beneath the sedan's front tires. She lay her head back against her seat, sent her notes flying as she propped her feet up on the dashboard, and was lightly snoring when Xander suddenly jerked the car to the right and sped up, swerving onto an off ramp.  
  
"What?" She shot upright in her seat, and blinked over at him. "What's wrong, do you need a really, really sudden bathroom break?"  
  
Xander stared straight ahead, his forehead creasing. "Up for a bit of stalking?"  
  
"Huh?" Dawn glanced around. She didn't think she'd been asleep for that long. "We're not in Florida yet, are we?"  
  
"Not even close." Xander swerved around a green mini-van with faded Bush/Quayle bumper stickers, then slowed as they careened around the swiftly curving ramp. Dawn saw a sign flash by, advertising route 20.  
  
"So, um, where are we going?"  
  
"We're following that car." Xander pointed ahead of them at a white convertible LeBaron, which was speeding even more recklessly than they were as they merged with the light, route 20 traffic.   
  
"Okay, why?"  
  
Xander smiled, then tapped his left temple. "'Cause it's got a slayer in it."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"Obviously," Xander leaned his head on his arms, which were crossed over the top of the steering wheel. "I'll never be able to land a job in the pursuit business."  
  
Dawn, who was more than happy to have a reason to put "Light in August" to rest for an unidentifiable length of time (if slayer tracking wasn't an excuse for late homework, she didn't know what was), was jotting down the details of the vehicle, which had lost them on the swampy back roads only moments before. "We'll get Willow to run the license plate numbers. We'll find her."  
  
"Unless our slayer has a thing for grand theft auto, that is," Xander glanced around at the darkened landscape. "And has contacts at an autoshop in the middle of the swamp . . . ."  
  
Dawn looked over at him, noting the blue bags under his eyes. "Hey, if the tire hadn't blown out, you'd be good. You kept up with her all that way down 20."  
  
"Ah, yes, the tire." Xander stretched, then reached for the glove compartment. He pulled out two stakes, a bottle of holy water, and a cross. "Call Willow with the info. I'll go do the manly thing and get eaten by swamp-vampires."  
  
He straightened as much as he could in the seat, stowing his equipment in his back pockets. Dawn handed him the morning star from the back seat.   
  
"How about doing the manly thing and beating the swamp-vampires off before jumping into the car to make a swift getaway?"  
  
"Ah, the famous Summers woman's ability to complicate a simple plan. I like it." Xander took the proffered weapon then warily got out of the car. He glanced quickly at the two tires on his side, then walked purposefully around to the other without taking his eyes off of the wilderness at the edges of the darkened asphalt. It was the rear right tire that had blown. He pulled the jack, tire iron, and spare out of the trunk, and set to work.  
  
It would have to be a cranking jack, wouldn't it, not the nice hydraulic one he had ALMOST been able to talk Giles into thinking of as a safety expense. That would teach him not to have the former owner of a Citroen to do the car shopping.  
  
He was replacing the final bolt when he heard a crunching sound, somewhere about ten feet behind him. He glanced up at Dawn, who was peering intently out the driver's side window, hands at a determined 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, then glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't see anything, but he gripped the tire iron with renewed determination, and cranked the car back down to the road as fast as he possibly could.  
  
Another crunch, and now a low, hissing sound behind him and to his left. He shoved the jack violently out from under the car, grabbed the morning star, and bolted for the passenger side door. Dawn, hearing the scraping of metal on asphalt if not the hissing of the whatever, had the door unlocked for him as his hand touched the handle.  
  
He slammed into the seat and pulled the door closed behind him just as something very tall and very green leaped out of the swamps at the vehicle. Dawn screamed and Xander jumped back from the window. The engine revved.  
  
"FLOOR IT!"  
  
"I am!" Dawn shoved her right foot all the way to the floor, then blinked, and moved her left foot off the clutch. The car jerked forward about two feet, then stalled.   
  
"Dawn!" Xander stared as the green thing backed up several feet, then jumped upwards. It had scales, and its toes, as they flashed by the window, were webbed. "What's wrong!"  
  
"BLOODY STICK SHIFT!" Dawn bashed her hand on the steering wheel as she turned the car back on, and slightly slower, shifted her feet in the practiced rhythm. She slammed into second gear, and let the acceleration take them up past fifty miles per hour. "You couldn't have bought an automatic?"  
  
"Stick shifts are cheaper and more manly." Xander flopped back in the passenger seat as he heard the creature thump off the roof, bounce on the trunk, and hit the road behind them. "Despite their vaguely phallic nature."  
  
Dawn grinned as much with relief as any real humor. Most of her manual driving experience was in highway form, and she and Xander had this argument, at much lower decibels every time she got behind the wheel. She felt she was getting the hang of it.  
  
A sudden explosion and a loud thunk echoed from the back of the car, and she nearly steered off the road. She passed a cross street, the wheel vibrating erratically under her hands, then let the car slow to a stop. "What the hell was that?"  
  
Xander closed his eyes, and let his head fall to the dashboard. "That was our back tire." He slammed his hand into the window. "And I didn't have time to rescue our jack running away from the lizard guy, back there."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
They called Buffy, in hopes of some translocated car parts if not the actual slayer, but no one picked up. Willow had, apparently, been in full babble mode when Dawn had called earlier, a sure sign that the gang was already off fighting off some sort of apocalypse in Cleveland, without them. Xander cracked a joke about how lost they must be without Language Girl and He Who Sees, but he knew it came out rather flat. They were in the middle of nowhere, South Carolina, with a twice blown tire and no more spares, and no equipment should one miraculously appear. Dawn was shivering, and he knew he wasn't much better.  
  
They were debating the wisdom of calling AAA and dragging one of their innocent agents out onto a road with a known monster on it, when a familiar Chrysler LeBaron pulled around the corner ahead of them, a faint silver glow circling the passenger seat and sending a wave of shock up Xander's back. How the hell . . . ?  
  
"Oh my god." Dawn stared at the other car. "Is that her?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They watched in silence as the LeBaron stopped several feet away from them, and twin teenagers climbed out.  
  
They were tall, nearly six feet in fact, which startled Xander, as he was beginning to think that the slayer essence was reserved for short girls. They had identical auburn bobs cutting off at their jaw lines, and cheerful smiles on their faces. If it weren't for the fact that one was wearing a khaki raincoat, and the other had the silver slayer aura circling her frame, Xander would have assumed he was seeing double.  
  
Khaki sauntered up to Dawn's window, and made the international gesture for "roll down the window". Dawn complied, staring wide eyed at the girl. Khaki grinned.  
  
"A little car trouble?"   
  
Dawn nodded. Xander kept staring at the slayer, who was standing warily in the middle of the road, her hand tucked into the side of her denim jacket. He recognized a modified defensive stance to her form. Could she already know?  
  
"Anything we can help ya with?" Khaki raised an eyebrow, and Xander tore his gaze from her sister.  
  
"Blown tire." He was half expecting to see the glimmer erupt up around Khaki. Somehow, he had never considered the possibility of one twin getting the slayer juice, without the other. "No spare, and we lost our jack, too."  
  
Khaki straightened back up, and called something in a half formed gibberish to her sister. The slayer responded in kind. Both were looking at the roof of Xander's sedan. After a quick, unintelligible conversation, Khaki leaned back down.  
  
"Come on," She waved her hand in the direction of the LeBaron. "We'll give you a lift somewhere, and you can get your car fixed up in the morning." She smiled lazily. "It's not exactly safe around here after dark.  
  
Dawn barely kept a "no shit, Sherlock" to herself, and nodded gratefully. "Thanks. That's really nice of you guys."  
  
"Nah, it's nothin'." Khaki stepped back to give Dawn room to maneuver. "Leyna seems to think it's her duty to help out the hopeless."  
  
"Leyna" sent a glare in her sister's direction, then turned and smiled vaguely toward Xander. "Let's get going." She led the way back to the LeBaron, and waited for Xander and Dawn to get comfortable in the back seat before continuing. "When we get home, you can tell us why you followed us off the freeway."  
  
end part one 


	7. Lizard Man part 2

Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 2: Lizard Man  
  
Part Two  
  
"See, Lisa?" Leyna smirked at her twin across the dining room table. "I told you something weird was going on."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Lisa, aka Khaki, leaned her chair back onto two legs. "Igthymiss toloda mi."  
  
Leyna growled, then stuck her tongue out at her sister. Xander and Dawn sipped hot tea and pretended not to be paying attention.  
  
"So!" Leyna leaned across the table. Xander had just finished his "Chosen Many speech" and a modified version of the "you'll love Helsing Institute" one as well, adding whenever possible that they might be able to find SOMETHING for Lisa to do there as well. Lisa's face had grown darker as he'd gone on, while Leyna just got perkier. "My mystical powers are my ticket out of dead-ville after all? And to a real city! Oooooo!" She shivered. "My lucky day!"  
  
"What Miss Super-Hero here means is," Lisa's jaw was clenching intermittently. "We'll check with Mom and Dad when they get home."  
  
"Of course." Xander nodded.  
  
Leyna had noticed immediately when she'd received the slayer powers back in May. She hadn't known exactly what they were, but she figured that she'd developed super powers, and immediately talked her parents into signing her up for Tae Kwon Do at the local community center. She and Lisa had, apparently, been driving back from visiting a friend at college when Xander had spotted them from the road.   
  
Leyna was obviously excited at the prospect of having special skills her twin didn't possess, but it turned out it had been Lisa who'd been observant enough to pick up on Xander following them, as well as the generally woogy nature of the swamps around them. And it was Lisa who had the information they wanted on the Lizard Man.  
  
"He's been around since about 1988 or so. That's when the big media circus came to town." She glanced over at Leyna. "We were really little then, so I don't remember much, but it was this big lizard-fish thing, and it attacked some kid in his car, a lot like it did to you tonight. There were a whole shitload of sightings back then, but these days its usually just drunken teenagers and local kooks who lay eyes on the thing."  
  
Leyna rolled her eyes. "So not true. Remember when we went out there with Jase and Carter?"  
  
Lisa glowered, and babbled in the twin's secret language for a moment. Leyna babbled back, and soon the two were in a gibberish shouting match, arms flailing, that didn't stop until they ended up toe to toe.   
  
"I warned you what I'd do if you brought that up!" Leyna's eyes promised swift revenge.  
  
Lisa smiled darkly. "You wouldn't. You know you wouldn't. You think because some mystical whatsis decided to give you big arms and not me, that you can push me around, but we both know you wouldn't touch me." She pulled out her car keys and dangled them in her face. "After all, who's got the wheels?"  
  
Leyna huffed, then blew a raspberry and sat back down, much more subdued. Lisa's face returned to its previous calm, and she turned back to Xander and Dawn. "As I said, these days, only drunks and kooks see the Lizard Man."  
  
"Well, file us down under kooks." Xander smiled, having sat through sibling rivalry before. He figured that Leyna must have been drunk whatever night it had been with the boys, and it was something Lisa loved to rub her face in. "Kooks with a rather remarkably scratched up car, and a seven foot Lizard Man shaped dent on the trunk. You're sure you won't have any trouble with getting permission to head to Cleveland?"  
  
"Nah." Leyna shrugged. "We're out of school,"  
  
"We graduated early." Lisa sat back down. "We weren't planning on going to college."  
  
"Which pissed of Mom and Dad."  
  
"But they couldn't make us go."  
  
"Not if we didn't want to."  
  
"But they're threatening us with rent if we stay here,"  
  
"And if we tell them we've got a new school to go to,"  
  
"Far, FAR away,"  
  
"They'll be plenty happy to pay up whatever we tell them we need."  
  
"Tell them we need a lot of money."  
  
Dawn giggled. "We told you. Leyna at least is entitled to a full scholarship. I'm sure we can find one for you too, Lisa."  
  
"Even better. Then when they give us money for school,"  
  
"We can keep it and go shopping!"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"Jesus," Xander leaned against the back door of the battered sedan, waiting for AAA. Leyna and Lisa sat several feet away, discussing the idea of the Helsing Institute in hushed, excited terms. "Wood's going to LOVE those two."  
  
Dawn smiled, then abruptly turned serious. "If he let's Lisa in, anyway." She sighed. "God, I felt so sorry for her last night, the whole time they were arguing. Having a sister for a slayer and being normal SUCKS. I can't imagine how it'd have been to be Buffy's TWIN sister."  
  
Xander shook his head. "Don't worry about Lisa, Dawnie. She's got a good head, and a great attention to detail. She's a natural for watcher duty, and since Giles has been muttering about having to recruit those, too, I doubt we'll have any problems getting her in." He glanced at his watch. "I'm much more worried about how their friendship will do, with them going in such different directions. It'll be tough for them, for a long time, to get used to separating."  
  
"Nah." Lisa jumped up on the trunk behind him. "We'll be fine. Leyna and I have always been interested in different things." She glanced back at Leyna, who was performing an imperfect kata on the lawn across the street. "We're only identical on the outside. Now," She leaned forward, flipping the stake Xander had given her in her left hand. "About the Lizard Man."  
  
Xander stiffened. His mind flashed to an image of Joanna, screaming her lungs out in the woods. He did NOT want these girls getting the idea that they had to take down something that, as far as they knew, had as much luck harming people as Big Foot. "I told you, Lisa. Don't worry about it."  
  
Lisa hrmphed. "This is our town, Xander. We might hate it, but that doesn't mean we can leave it without trying to do something. Now, I looked up some stuff last night after you guys and Leyna had gone to sleep." She pulled a small note book from her back pocket. "No real suspicious deaths in the area that I could find, a couple of people gone missing, but nothing more than what I suppose is the usual. But I did find this."  
  
She held up printed etching of a fish-like creature standing knee deep in a dark swamp. It was off on a few minor details, but there was no mistaking it for being the same sort of thing that Xander and Dawn had seen last night. "That's it, alright."  
  
"I thought so." Lisa glanced back down at her notes. "The local Native Americans used to talk about this thing a lot, back in the day. There was a whole tribe of them, living in the swamps. They were called . . . well, I don't know how to pronounce it. I-n-z-I-g-n-a-n-I-n. They were a race of benignish fish people."  
  
"Benign-ish?"  
  
"Well, they didn't go out looking for trouble, anyway. But they were supposedly very territorial. There's some local legends about them back in the colonial times, when they'd attack forts and stuff, late at night." Lisa looked back up. "What I figure is, when people stop along that road back there, like you guys did with your flat tire, and like Chris, the guy who first saw the thing back in 1988, the Lizard Men get all agitated, and send out a scout to fight you off."  
  
"Can I look?" Dawn held out a hand for Lisa's notebook. Lisa nodded. "Huh. Not a bad theory." Dawn skimmed through the notes again. "Not good hand writing, but not a bad theory. So what's the plan? If these things are so territorial, then attacking one is likely to bring the whole gang out."  
  
"Yeah." Lisa glanced back up at Leyna. "That's what I spent most of breakfast convincing Leyna of. What I'm thinking is, if people don't bother the Lizard Men, the Lizard Men don't bother the people. How soon do you need us to had to Cleveland."  
  
"We were kind of hoping for ASAP." Xander shrugged. "But I think allowances can be made for not-dumb saving people plans. Though we might insist on sending you back up."  
  
"Shouldn't need it." Lisa was smiling again, tucking her notebook back in her pocket. "I was big into law and stuff back in high school, but I didn't get into any of the colleges I wanted, and Leyna didn't even apply. But I bet I could talk the county into posting signs on the road, warning people that the swamps could be dangerous, if and I'm really good, I can probably get the whole swamp to be roped off as a preserve or something. But I'd have to be here to do it. They're not going to trust information coming from Cleveland."  
  
Dawn nodded apologetically. "And it'd take a while. A long while. You know, you don't have to go with your sister."  
  
Lisa twitched, still watching Leyna. "I know. But we've never been apart for more than a month before. It's kind of . . . scary-sad. She needs to go, get this 'I'm SuperGirl' thing out of her system, I think, but you said the creepy things follow the slayers, and I think I'd freak if I thought she was out risking her life while I stayed safe at home with the 'rents."  
  
Xander nodded. "As the normal one with a surrogate family of super-types, I know what you mean." He cocked his head. "Stick around here for awhile, work the legislative angle. You're always welcome, if you decide to come up to Helsing to visit, or stay. If anyone complains, you can take my room, and tell them to talk to me about it." He blushed. "Not that I have that much pull, being, as I said, the normal one, but I command some respect, I can always refuse to fix the windows."  
  
Leyna bounded over as the tow truck pulled up. "So!" She glanced at Lisa. "She tell you the plan?"  
  
"Yeah." Xander rummaged through a bag for a moment, then pulled out a pamphlet. "You up to being a slayer without your sis for awhile?"  
  
"Are you kidding me?" Leyna rolled her eyes. "Time away from my mothering other half? Sounds like a blast." She smiled, but it was weak. "You're both rolling off to the next slayer, aren't you?"  
  
Dawn nodded, as Xander jogged over to talk business with the tow truck driver.  
  
"Are you going to be in Cleveland when I get there?" Leyna glanced down at the pamphlet, running her thumb over the image of the converted hotel.   
  
"Probably not," Dawn shrugged. "We've got our job pretty well cut out for us. Our first scheduled break isn't until March."  
  
"Geez." Leyna glanced at Lisa, who was studying her nails. They all took a few steps away from the car, as it was pulled up onto the truck bed. "All these girls, just like me. I was kind of hoping I was, you know, one of a kind."  
  
"Don't see why," Lisa smiled. "You never have been,"  
  
"And never will be."  
  
"You're stuck with me."  
  
"Yuggrbl toth!"  
  
"Neespro angli!"  
  
Xander and Dawn called out their goodbyes as they climbed into the truck, but they feel on deaf ears. Leyna the Slayer and Lisa in Khaki were at it again, and it looked like they would be for awhile.  
  
end part two  
  
tbc in Sweet Home Alabama, coming soon 


	8. Sweet Home Alabama part 1

Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 3: Sweet Home Alabama  
  
Part One  
  
"We're never going to make it to Florida." Dawn stood by the battered sedan, her hands shoved in her pockets. She could see her breath, and it was starting to annoy her. "All I want is to be warm. Is that too much to ask?"  
  
Xander shrugged. He was feeling the cold as well. They were in Alabama now, standing outside a tiny split level home on the outskirts of Gurden. It was a little after five in the afternoon, and already the sun was starting to set through the heavy cloud cover. Both were anxious to get to some place warm, so they'd decided to skip the "call on 'em in the early morning" plan they'd set up before leaving Cleveland and head straight for the address the Devon Coven had provided. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, trying to warm up.  
  
"They had a good point, though." He waved a hand at the house. "This is kind of on our way to St. Petersburg. We can get this one through with, then head down to the warmer climates, and save some money on gas and travel."  
  
"I'm sick of saving money. Saving money is why we had to buy a stick shift, it's why we couldn't FLY to all the locations, and I'm not sure how, but I think it's why Wood decided to assign me Faulkner instead of something interesting, like _Catch-22_. Saving money is for losers."  
  
Xander smiled. "How's that coming, by the way?"  
  
"I don't care whether the characters live or die."  
  
"Jesse and I had that same problem with _The Scarlet Letter_ in ninth grade. Our teacher really didn't appreciate it when we pointed it out to her though."  
  
"Let's get this over with. Maybe she's got a good heating system." Dawn opened the small, chainlink gait that marked the beginning of a flagstone path to the front porch. Her steps were heavy, and Xander knew she was already growing tired of the constant travel. So was he, for that matter. The thought of having to explain themselves and argue through the pros and cons of leaving everything behind and going to Cleveland made him twitch. He followed after her, and let her ring the front bell. They were only on their third slayer, and they were already exhausted. It wasn't a good sign.  
  
The woman who answered the door was bordering on decrepit. Her back was bent at a painful looking angle; the joints in her fingers were swollen, her hands covered in liver spots. She had little hair left, but there was a spark to her eyes and a strange grace to her movements that belied the state of her body.  
  
Xander froze, his jaw dropping slightly. His brain locked.  
  
Dawn had no such trouble. "Hi! We're looking for Char–"  
  
Xander's brain reignited and began racing, stumbling here and there and circling thoughts. His jaw flexed around her name. "Charlotte DuBois." The woman cocked her head to the side, and Xander's eyes locked in on hers. His brain hit another sentence and before it could remind him about subtlety, it was out. "You're a slayer."  
  
Dawn's head shot to one side, staring at him. Charlotte's lips turned up ever so slightly and the lines about her eyes folded upon themselves.   
  
"Yes I am." She glanced around the yard, then backed through the doorway. "I'll get you something to drink before the sun sets, shall I?"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander's mind was still not operating on full, and Dawn's voice was rattling about in the back of her throat without coming towards her mouth, so it was up to Charlotte to break the ice.   
  
"You're a little young to be my new watchers, aren't you?"  
  
Dawn laughed. It sounded painful. "You're a little–" she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.   
  
"Old?" Charlotte offered. She spooned sugar into their teas with a dexterity she'd never have been able to have with the arthritis that had swollen her knuckles. "I am at that. I thought my chance at slaying was long gone, some seventy years back. But here I am, and here you are." She stirred each cup three times before setting the spoon back down. "Milk?"  
  
"No," Xander muttered. He couldn't take his eyes off the glimmer around her thinning, nearly non-existent hair. "How–" He shook his head. There was no way to finish the question, or rather, there were too many.  
  
"I was hoping you could tell me." Charlotte was instantly sad, her watery blue eyes painful to look at. "Have so many other potentials been killed, that all that was left was an old woman to hold the fort?"  
  
"No!" Xander leaned forward, grabbing her hand. "No, of course not. God, how cruel would that be, leaving the slaying business to an old woman? No."  
  
"Then please, tell me what's going on. My watcher passed years ago, and all the old phone numbers I had for the council were unanswered. I've been trying to find someone to contact, to let them know that somehow I'd been called." She frowned. "My memory's not what it was, but I was certain it was 'one girl in all the world'. If I have the power, then certainly there can't be another slayer out there, can there?"  
  
Dawn smiled. "Actually, there's been more than one for a couple of years now. My sister died about two years into her slaying, but Xander resuscitated her, so there were two, for awhile. Now there's . . . well, we're not sure how many. A lot."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Big spell, averting the apocalypse. Everyone who had the potential is a slayer now." Xander squeezed her hand gently. "Including you, it seems." His brain caught back up with the conversation. "You were trained?"  
  
"Of course I was." Charlotte stood, searched through a nearby bookcase, and came back with a yellowing photo album. "I was recognized as a potential in the early twenties. I spent most of the early part of my life with my watcher." She pointed to a photo of a rather stunning young woman holding a crossbow, standing next to a handsome older man in, of course, tweed. "Lord Giles was my watcher. Last I heard, his grandson was being prepared to watch the slayer." She closed the album. "But I was set off on my own decades ago, when it was determined my time for being called had passed. I never expected that, this late in my life, I could be called."  
  
Xander laughed. "We never expected it either, though I guess we should have. After all, the spell wasn't age specific."   
  
"So you're watchers, then? Or at least in training. You're here to what, recruit all the new slayers?"  
  
"Something like that." Dawn shrugged. "We're not watchers though. Friends of the slayers, you could say. We're trying to get as many of them as we can to go to Cleveland and be trained."  
  
"On the hellmouth, then?" Charlotte smiled. "I saw what happened to Sunnydale, I suppose you two may have been there. But why not in England, at the Council School? I have fond memories of that place."  
  
"The Council School has been . . . ." Xander searched for the right words. "Well, destroyed. It happened a little before everything went down in Sunnydale. We've become a very low tech group."  
  
"Of course." Charlotte stood, and glanced out the window. "Will you be asking me to travel, then, too? As a new slayer?"  
  
"I don't know." Dawn looked down at the table thoughtfully. "Someone with your experience, you'd probably make a great teacher. If you're up to it?"  
  
"We'll discuss it more in the morning." Charlotte stretched as best she could, still watching the window. "I have a guest room downstairs; you'll have to stay here for the night."  
  
Xander pulled a stake from his pocket. "Of course not. We've got a hotel lined up, we just wanted to touch base with you first."  
  
"You'll need more than that, young man." Charlotte gestured to the stake. "You see, I'm aware that when a slayer is called, the forces of darkness tend to get wind of it all. I haven't left the house after dark in more than six months."  
  
"We're all for safety, ma'am." Dawn stood as well. "But isn't that a little . . . extreme?"  
  
Charlotte pointed out the window. "Perhaps. We could always ask them."  
  
Xander turned, then backed up sharply. Out on the front lawn stood a mob of vampires, stock still, and staring in at the three of them hungrily. He checked the other windows he could see; the vampires were surrounding the house, all still, all waiting. He shivered, then shoved his stake back in his pocket.  
  
"Where did you say that spare room was?"  
  
end part one 


	9. Sweet Home Alabama part 2

Addendum to the Author's Note: Thanks so much to all the people who've reviewed. Nothing gets me writing faster than knowing that people are reading. Even if it is just an excuse to explore a bunch of ideas about new slayers, and have fun with local folklore.   
  
Anyone with any ghost stories and folklore they'd like to pass along to me, suggestions of other beasties and things for our heros and their new girls to encounter, please do so! At the moment, I relying mostly on WeirdUS and WeirdNJ for information, as well as the various tales I've been told over the years. I know there's more out there to find, but I don't know where to look yet.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 3: Sweet Home Alabama  
  
Part Two  
  
"She was really trained by Giles' grandfather? He's going to have a fit when I tell him." Buffy's voice was cheerful and energetic. Xander smiled into the telephone. "Though it does explain why he's been wandering around the hotel, muttering about how familiar the slayer's name was."  
  
"Yeah, I'm thinking tweed must be genetic. The guy in the picture even looks like he's about to clean his glasses." Xander leaned back on Charlotte's couch in the living room. "She's a sweet heart, Buff. She made us breakfast this morning, more food than even I could eat, and she insisted we eat it all." He heard Buffy laugh.  
  
"Xander, you eat more than anyone else I've ever known, slayers included. And you can't even match our metabolism. It's not wonder you were starting to pack on the weight around your middle."  
  
"Hey, I'll have you know that my protective layer has kept me from freezing in the wintery climates you're sending me to. Dawn says that if we don't manage to get to Florida after this slayer, she's going on strike."  
  
"How's Dawn doing? Wood's been getting her emailed assignments, but she hasn't sent a word to me."  
  
"She's alright, I guess. She's having some trouble adjusting to life on the road, though. I'm sure she'll send you something eventually. But Wood has been keeping her pretty busy." Xander glanced toward the kitchen, where Charlotte was teaching Dawn how to make biscuits. "By the way, she says to tell him that Faulkner was a demon and his books a part of an evil plot to bore young girls to tears and distract them from the real world. She says its an anti-slayer conspiracy."  
  
"I'll tell him. Oh, hold on." There was a pause, then he heard Buffy's and Wood's voices, muffled through what was probably Buffy's hand on the receiver. She came back a moment later. "He says 'congratulations, she's figured it out'. But now she has to write a paper on how the symbolism and the plot work together to create the greatest possible distraction. Can I talk to her?"  
  
"She's talking to Charlotte right now, hold on." Xander stood and walked silently up to Dawn, who stirred the biscuit batter with utmost concentration. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder at him, and he winked.   
  
"You're going to put Andrew out of a business."  
  
Dawn shrieked, and flung batter all over the kitchen wall in front of her. Then she spun, and flung it all over Xander. "That's the plan. He thinks he's all special as the official cook of Helsing Institute. Wait till he sees Dawn, the Biscuit Slayer!"  
  
Charlotte smiled. "I think Dawn the Biscuit Slayer still needs some more one on one training with her watcher. You've got too much flour in there."  
  
"Buffy wants to talk to you, Dawn."  
  
The novice chef grimaced. "Damn, I keep forgetting to email her. She's probably pissed, right?"  
  
"Just worried. Think you can take a break from the slaying of baked goods long enough to reassure her?"  
  
"Yeah." Dawn slipped out of her apron. "If I don't, she'll probably ground me. You want to take over?"  
  
"Nah, I don't cook. I'm just a master eater. Unless you need my help, Charlotte?"  
  
"No, dear." Charlotte pulled a couple tupperware containers out of the cabinet above her. "This is going to take some concentration to fix. If you'd like to, though, I've got some old weapons in the attic that could use sharpening. I'd like to take care of at least some of those vampires before I head up north."  
  
"Sure thing." Xander turned to follow Dawn out of the kitchen, then paused. "You're not going to try and take on those things by yourself, are you? Dawn and I are pretty good with the weaponry, but we're no where near the slayer army that it would take to get rid of those suckers."  
  
"You'll find that most vampires aren't nearly as strong away from a hellmouth," Charlotte measured out some butter. "But you're right of course. No, I've got a plan. Vampires are rather cocky, they don't expect to trip over things like booby traps, especially not in the front lawn of an old woman. We'll set them up this afternoon, and see how many we can trip up by this evening. You sharpen up those weapons, I'll finish up here and then get some of my old summoning supplies out. There are a few local spirits we can probably call on for help as well."  
  
"Spirits? Summoning supplies? What was old Giles senior teaching you in those days?"   
  
"Lord Giles was a firm believer that a young slayer not rely on her physical strength alone. He discovered I had some talent towards astral communication, and trained me well in it. Surely your Giles is not a novice in communicating with the beyond himself?"  
  
Xander thought back to the number of times he'd seen Giles recruit otherworldly aid, and smiled. Not to mention his days as Ripper, summoner of demons. "Novice, no. He never let Buffy do any of it though, and it took some convincing before he let Willow in on the act as well."  
  
"That just means he's careful." Charlotte smiled. "I look forward to meeting your friends. And teaching your slayers what I've learned over the years. It's been so long since I've been anywhere near the slayer game. Perhaps I'm a romantic old woman, but I believe it should be fun."  
  
"Barrel of laughs, Charlotte my girl, a barrel of laughs."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Dawn stood by the side of the tracks. It was nearing sundown, and Charlotte had loaned her an old trench coat to keep her from getting too cold. It was starting to rain, a spitting drizzle, and she thought of the summer thunderstorms and cooling downpours of California with a nostalgic pang. This rain was cold and bitter, coming at them from every direction. No umbrella in the world would have kept them dry. Charlotte was wrapped in a purple poncho over a fur coat. Her hands were encased in fingerless, wool gloves, and they shook slightly as she lowered a match into a crucible at her feet. They were out to summon a spirit that Charlotte called the Hook Man, who roamed the railroads late at night. Dawn wasn't sure why the ghost of a railroad engineer would be willing to help them fight vampires, or what it could possibly do, but she was willing to try.  
  
Xander was back at the house, setting up trip wires and buckets of holy water in the trees. With his experience as a carpenter and construction worker, he should be done by the time they got back, which was good, as Dawn was still worried that they wouldn't be ready by sun down.  
  
"There," Charlotte murmured, stepping back from the blue-flamed bowl of herbs. Somehow the rain didn't put it out. "The offering is ready. We'll head back to the house now, to set up the spell itself."  
  
The bowl was one of four that she and Charlotte had set out this afternoon, one in the cemetery to call on the ghost of an old general, one by the local church for a priest, and one in the middle of the woods, for an even older, unidentified spirit. The Hook Man was the last spirit they were going to call on. They'd set up the spell in Charlotte's front room, and she would provide the channeling energy while Charlotte provided the focus. Xander was to stand watch, and keep an eye on the proceedings in the lawn. Hopefully by morning, they'd be ready to head down south, and Charlotte would be packing for Cleveland. She smiled. She'd gotten a promise from Buffy earlier that, barring an emergency, she and Xander would get a chance for some time off in Orlando to visit the theme parks. Only a couple of days, mind you, but it was something, anyway.  
  
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Dawn lead the woman back to the car. "Four summoning spells in one, it sounds tricky."  
  
"When it comes right down to it, dear," Charlotte patted her arm. "Magic can do anything you ask of it. You just have to know the right way to ask. Between both our energies, we should have no trouble calling up our help. Now, let's go see what Xander's been able to rig for us, shall we?"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
The rain picked up as soon as the sun finished settling over the mountains, turning dusk into full dark. Xander was standing just inside the front door, peering through the window with his sword at his side. Dawn and Charlotte sat in the front room, a flaming crucible between them. He nodded to them, and Charlotte began to chant.  
  
The vampires arrived within moments of the darkness settling in. They lined the fence before the street, silently gathering. Several started to climb over the fence. Xander counted down silently in his head as one vampire opened the front gate. 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . .  
  
The fishing line on the gate pulled snapped taut, and a line of blades, axes, swords, and sickles, flung themselves into the air at head level, taking out the front wave of vampires. Most were decapitated, some went down with flesh wounds before standing back up. They moved forward again, right into the low lying trip wire. Xander winced as the crossbows hidden in the bushes fired. The aim was off and that trap only managed to take out three of the vampires. The rest yanked the bolts out of arms, legs, and stomachs, and roared. Great, they'd made them angry.  
  
Charlottes chant built in volume and intensity. She was shaking, and as he glanced over, he noticed Dawn begin to glow an unearthly green. Charlotte started to scream out the strange words, the green light flowing along their clasped arms into Charlotte. Her eyes snapped open as the chant stopped. Her voice was soft, stunted.  
  
"You didn't. Tell me." She looked at Dawn, who's head was thrown back. "So much power,"  
  
Damn. The Key. Nothing had come of Dawn's keyness in so long, that Xander had nearly forgotten about it. He certainly didn't think that a spirit summoning could pull the power out of her. A battle cry sounded over the roaring of the vampires in the lawn, and Xander snapped his eyes back to the window.  
  
A shadowed form on horse back leaped out of nowhere, silver flashing. Several more vampires went down, and the General, a misty gray man on a towering black horse, turned about for a second pass. The vampires turned to meet him, as more approached the house.   
  
A pale light, almost like a headlight in the distance, swam through the masses. Where it touched them, the vampires shrieked in pain and fell back. That, Xander knew, from Charlotte's stories, was the Hook Man. It didn't seem to be able to kill the vampires, but several were now fleeing the property, instead of approaching, which was fine with Xander. He peered closer, hoping to catch sight of the priest or the fourth spirit.   
  
A Native war cry sounded through the darkness, and Xander winced. Native spirits gave him the heebie-jeebies. He hoped this one wouldn't decide to give him syphilis. He tried to catch sight of it, but all he could see were vampires falling back, their scalps peeling away. He choked down nausea and glanced back at the spell casters behind him. Charlotte was chanting again, softly this time, and the green continued to flow from Dawn to the elderly slayer. He turned back to the lawn.  
  
The vampires' roar had turned into a keening wail. It took a moment for Xander to realize why. They were melting in the rain, steam pouring off of them. A pale form in white robes stood on the porch to the right of the doorway. Its hands were moving in a continual cross formation, as its mouth chanted silently in Latin. The ghost of the priest had blessed the rain. Xander sent mute thanks out towards the spirits, as those vampires not cowed by the General, the Hook Man, or the Native were slowly burned to ash by the falling water.   
  
Ten minutes after the vampires had arrived, there was nothing left but dripping weapons and fallen bolts. The Priest turned towards him at the window and smiled. Xander, never religious and raised by Agnostic parents, was surprised to find he was crossing himself. The General saluted. The Native and the Hook Man were already gone. He watched the last two spirits fade away, and called out to Charlotte and Dawn over his shoulder.  
  
"It's over."  
  
"Xander, help!"  
  
He spun around. Dawn was kneeling on the floor, her cheeks already red and raw. The fire in the crucible smoldered.   
  
Charlotte lay on her back, her arms outspread, her blue eyes glazed and staring.  
  
"Oh God," Dawn backed away as Xander slid to the floor beside the old form. "Oh God, Xander,"  
  
He glanced up at her, his hand cupping Charlotte's throat. "She's dead."  
  
end part two 


	10. Sweet Home Alabama part 3

Belated addendum to the disclaimer: the Hook Man, or the Hookerman, is a pretty well known spirit, not just in Alabama, but appearing on rail roads across the country. He usually shows up as a glowing light, as I've described in the last part. As far as I know, he only shows up as an apparition, without any physical manifestation, but I liked the idea of him as a helper spirit. The General is based on a headless horseman like apparition from a really old dream of mine. The Priest and the Native are just random creations.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 3: Sweet Home Alabama  
  
Part Three  
  
By unspoken agreement, Xander and Dawn stayed in Gurdon another week, to sort out Charlotte's final business, and arrange for her funeral. They hadn't been able to find any living relatives, and the local attorney had no last will for her on file. Charlotte's life insurance covered most of the costs of the embalming and funeral, while the town, who had taken to the old woman, covered the rest. Her furniture and mundane belongings were sold by the church, and Xander packed up her old weapons and more esoteric texts to be shipped to the Helsing Institute. He managed to grab the old photo album before the locals came in to sort out her belongings, and pack it into his own suitcase.  
  
It had been a heart attack, not entirely unexpected by the town. Her physician, an older gentleman himself, explained that her renewed health back in May had been her body's final burst of energy before succumbing to time. None of that made Dawn feel any better.  
  
The girl had withdrawn over the week, spending most of her time in the hotel room, watching television. Xander knew it was not her fault, though it may, perhaps, have been the unexpected energy of the key that had stopped Charlotte's heart. He should have known to mention that it might come into play. He was older than Dawn, and responsible for her. He should never have let the old woman perform the spell.   
  
It was, of course, to late to change any of that.  
  
The service was a small one, in the same cold, spitting rain that had fallen on the last afternoon of Charlotte's life. The crowd consisted mostly of the town's older generation; Xander and Dawn were the youngest there by at least ten years. The priest's eulogy was subdued, focusing on Charlotte's particular joie de vive and her work in the community. No one questioned the presence of the two young adults who had witnessed her last moments. It wasn't unheard of that Charlotte took in travelers she met in the town, and most people were simply thankful that she hadn't had to spend her final moments alone.  
  
Xander frowned, knowing that the wetness on his face was not entirely from the rain. Dawn was sobbing next to him, mourning not just Charlotte, but probably her mother and her home as well. Xander knew his own tears were for a number of people, the slayers who'd died in the last battle in Sunnydale, and especially for Anya. He'd thought that his tears for her had ended when the group had had a small service for the dead in LA before continuing on to Cleveland. He thought he'd finished mourning when they'd uncovered the plaque that marked the entrance to the remodeled hotel, dedicating the school to a long list of names, including Joyce and Tara. As the town began to file out of the church yard in couples and groups, he realized that he'd probably never be done mourning her, or any of the others.   
  
He knew that he and Dawn would move on again, in only a few short hours. And he hoped desperately that this would be the last funeral they'd have to attend for a new found friend on their journey.  
  
He put his arm around her and hugged her to his wet coat as her sobs slowly faded.  
  
"Hey kiddo."  
  
She looked up at him. Her nose was red from tears and cold.   
  
"Let's go to Disney World."  
  
She nodded and gave him a half-smile. "I hear its in the seventies down there."  
  
Xander sighed. "Sounds fabulous."  
  
end part three  
  
tbc in The Scottish Play 


	11. the Scottish Play part 1

Addendum to the disclaimer: Now, I'm pretty sure that most, if not all of you already know that Macbeth is a play by Shakespeare. What you may not have known is that the play is also cursed. Performances through the centuries have been riddled with illness, injury, and even death among the performers and technicians. Even saying the name of the play, when not in direct reference to a production of it, is considered very bad luck. Instead, its referred to the Scottish Play, and punishment for using the word "Macbeth" in or around a theater is to run three times around the theater, and then spit. Supposedly, this will keep the bad luck away. Theater people are exceptionally weird.  
  
I'm also going to be using at the very least brief references to a phenomenon known as the Tampa Triangle Dead Zone, a channel that runs from the Skyway Bridge in St. Petersburg, FL, to the first bowie out in the Gulf of Mexico, where an incredible amount of maritime disasters have occurred. The Dead Zone is real, though the FL tourist boards are made to deny it. While there's no proof of anything supernatural happening there, it is a very creepy place in the middle of a rather beautiful region of the country.  
  
Eckerd College is also real. I went there, so I know, 'cause unlike some of my fellow students, I wasn't doing the drugs that make you hallucinate things like your entire college experience. The people AT Eckerd College in this story, however, are not real. As much fun as it would be to insert friends and teachers into this tale, I'm going to avoid it.  
  
Have I blathered on to long? I do that. On to the story:  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 4: The Scottish Play  
  
Part One  
  
"I swear, Dawn," Xander studied the signs hanging over 275 carefully. He'd already made several mistakes on the crazy, frequent left exit system, and wasn't really looking forward to more delays. While the trip from Orlando to St. Petersburg was relatively short, he was getting anxious to get out of the car and enjoy more of the Florida sunshine. "I am never going to get that damned song out of my head. Why did you drag me on that ride?"  
  
"Come on, you wanted to see the pirates just as much as I did." Dawn whistled badly but briefly. "It was funny, especially when you started quoting lines from the movie."  
  
"Yeah, it was." Xander smiled, then cut sharply to the right to avoid going to Tropicana Field. He was rewarded with several car horns sounding behind him. "That's not the ride I'm talking about."  
  
"Oh." Dawn's grin was rather evil. "Iiiiit's a small world aaaafter aaaall,"  
  
"I will kill you," Xander smiled, and sank back in his seat. "That was a great idea though. Three days, no slayers, no explanations, no evil monsters,"  
  
"You weren't the one who got hugged by Tigger."  
  
"You loved Tigger."  
  
"When I was TWELVE," Dawn snorted. "Besides, THAT Tigger loved me back, a little too much. I could feel his–"  
  
"Aaaand here we go." Xander merged into the exit lane for the Pinellas Bayway. "Eckerd College, here we come."  
  
"Who are we looking for here?"  
  
"Someone named Emma. No last name, no address. Just Emma, at Eckerd College."  
  
"I think the Devon Coven is playing a dirty trick on us." Dawn sulked. "How the hell are we supposed to find her?"  
  
"It's a small college, Dawnie." Xander shrugged. "Apparently there's some sort of mystical force field or something in the area. They said they couldn't get a real lock on anyone within about two hundred miles of here. We should be happy we got a first name." Xander entered the turn lane, studying the front entrance of the school. It was shrouded in southern oaks and palm trees. A bored looking security guard sat in a tiny guard house behind a "Welcome to Eckerd" sign. "It's a weekday, middle of the afternoon. I say we drive around the campus a bit until I spot the aura. If we don't find her today," Xander grinned. "Well, we've got a hotel on the beach. How cool is that?"  
  
"Definitely cooler than going to a college named after a pharmacy." Dawn waved cheerfully to the security guard, but was thoroughly ignored. "Or one in the middle of a mystical force field. Let's get this show on the road."  
  
Xander nodded, and pulled the car to a stop at a small traffic circle. "Left or right?"  
  
"Left."  
  
They pulled on ahead.   
  
From the road, the college didn't look like much. Low lying buildings in a style once referred to as "Polynesian gothic" by one of its own professors, combined with more palms and tall, twisted trees, full of vibrant green foliage. Bored looking students sauntered slowly along the road and between the buildings, or skated, or biked, or, most often, skate boarded. A woman in a decidedly hippie style dress sold sunglasses and tie died pants next to the mailboxes. Dawn made a face when she noticed that a lot of the students weren't wearing any shoes.  
  
They were following behind a sweaty security guard in a golf cart, which gave Xander plenty of leisure time to check each girl they passed for the tell tale silver glimmer. While some of the girls looked like they could probably kick his ass, none were slayers. A side road was marked off closed to traffic, and he could see a large building was in the process of construction pretty much in the middle of the road, so he followed the security guard further until they reached a series of two-story complexes with tapestries and beer cans in the windows. These, obviously, were the dorms. He turned into a parking lot, which lead to another, very small road labeled "Dorm Drive". A group of Indian boys were playing cricket in the lawn outside the "Beta" complex. A large mob of girls tank tops chatted on the way to the cafeteria, on their right. Still, there was no sign of the slayer.  
  
Continuing down Dorm Drive lead them back to the construction site, and Xander looped slowly around and passed through the complexes again, this time pulling off towards a circular apartment building by the water front. At four stories, it was the tallest building on campus.   
  
"An exceptionally small school." Xander muttered, watching a group of kids pass in front of him, obviously in no hurry. He turned right, the only direction left to them, and passed more dorms, and more non-slayers. They had reached the other side of the construction site, heading away from the main buildings on campus, when Xander finally spotted their girl.  
  
Or woman, rather.  
  
She was, he would guess, probably in her thirties. She wore a loose, flowing brown broomstick skirt, an equally loose and flowing green floral top, and combat boots. Her hair, blonde and frizzy, hung down her back, unfettered by any clips or ties. She was carrying a large messenger bag and a folder in her arms, and heading towards a stuccoed, gray building across the street from them. Xander pulled quickly into a parking space, trying to keep an eye on her.  
  
"There's Emma."  
  
Dawn stepped out of the car and walked over to the sign identifying the building. "Bininger Theater." She glanced back at the woman, who now held a set of keys and was walking up a ramp into an open passageway behind the building. "So I'm a theater student now?"  
  
"Looks like it." Xander put his arm around her. "And I'm your concerned and helpful older brother, making sure that Eckerd College is the right place for your learning."  
  
"Right. At least until we burst her bubble, and convince her to leave paradise for a hellmouth in the snow." Dawn set off behind Emma determinedly, a cheerful, inquisitive smile plastered across her face. Xander jogged slightly to catch up with her.  
  
"Miss? Miss!" Dawn called, speeding up the ramp. Emma turned, her hair swinging broadly along with her movement. Xander smiled when he thought of the shit fit that Cordelia would have had, seeing that mass.   
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Hi!" Dawn shrugged apologetically. "Is this the theater?"  
  
"You're in the right place."  
  
"Hi." Dawn said again, the picture of nervous enthusiasm. "I'm a perspective student. Do you know if any of the theater professors are here? My admissions counselor said I should come over and talk to some of them, get a feel for the program."  
  
"Of course!" Emma smiled brightly. "I'm Emma Evonnovich. I teach directing and literature. You're looking at becoming a theater major?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm Dawn Summers." Dawn stuck out her hand, and pointed her thumb behind her. "That's Xander. He's helping me look around. Do you have a free period?"  
  
"Actually, I'm getting ready for a rehearsal right now, but I can talk while I work, and that way you can take a look at the facility." Emma shook her hand, smiled at Xander, then turned to open the large, double doors on the side of the building. "If you like, you can stay and watch the rehearsal."  
  
"Sounds perfect." Dawn grinned, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Isn't that right, er, bro?"  
  
"Of course, SIS." Xander caught up to the two of them. "Only the best for you, you know. Gotta make sure my sister makes the right choice."  
  
"Yes." Emma's smile turned perplexed. "Come on in, both of you." She led the way into the wing space, switching on lights as she went. "We have a rather small program here, I'll admit. Only a handful of theater majors at a time, which means that each student can get the utmost attention and has many, many opportunities to get on stage. Are you interested in being an actress, or a technician?"  
  
"Oh, um, both. But Xander's more of the technical guy."   
  
"Wonderful. Well," Emma flipped some more switches, and the stage was bathed in cool, white light. "This is the main stage. The audience seats around five hundred people at a time. Right now we're working on a production of Macbeth, opening in a few days. You should come see it, if you're still in town."  
  
"Definitely." Xander smiled back. He glanced around the theater.   
  
The stage was lined with tall, black flats, decorated in gold Celtic knotwork. The only other scenery in sight were a few black chairs, and some black plywood cubes. A clanking noise sounded above them, and Emma peered up into the gloom.  
  
"Mike? Is that you?"  
  
"Yep!" A deep male voice sounded from above them, and a moment later, a round face with a full beard appeared in the catwalks. "Just finishing up the cabling for the black lights, Emma."  
  
"In the dark?"  
  
"Um." Mike's skin turned pink beneath the beard. "Yeah. Jane and I were trying to get a feel for the, um, spread of the lights."  
  
Someone giggled. "I'll just," the giggling continued, and a thin brunette appeared beside Mike. "Plug them back in for you. Mind hitting the work lights?"  
  
Emma smiled, her eyebrow raised. "Of course. Tell me when,"  
  
There was a great deal of rattling and cursing above them, and soon Xander saw the purple bars of the black lights flicker on. "When!"  
  
The theater plunged into UV. Xander wiped uselessly at the now visible bits of lint covering his shirt. Emma returned to the stage, then backed slowly down a ramp into the audience.   
  
"Wonderful, Jane!" She clapped her hands. "When did you get the crowns up?"   
  
"This morning. I didn't have any classes, and my roommate just bought more detergent, so I snuck some over." Jane's voice was on the move, and a moment later, they could hear the clang of feet coming down one of the metal ladders back stage. She stepped out from behind one of the flats, looking up. "They dripped a little, though."  
  
"I like it." Emma nodded firmly. "Gives it that nice, grisly aspect. After all, these are supposed to be the apparitions the witches show Macbeth. How did you reach up there?"  
  
Jane shrugged. Her shirt was on backwards, and she wasn't wearing a bra. Her hair stuck out at odd angles. "Mike helped me out with the A-frame, so I helped him out with the lights."  
  
Emma's smile was knowing and her voice full of innuendo. "Of course you did." She cocked her head. "How's that mattress in the back of the cats holding up?"  
  
Jane's face instantly darkened, and she swiped a hand over her hair. "Fine, um, fine."  
  
Emma nodded. "Well, while you're here, let's let Mike come down to the booth. We'll make sure the lights are all set up for the tech run tonight."  
  
"Way ahead of you." Mike was already at the top of the stairs in the back of the theater. His shirt was misbuttoned, and, Xander noted, his fly was open. A small triangle of iridescent blue shone through the front of his pants. Not for the first time, Xander wished he'd gone to college.  
  
"Dawn, Xander." Emma waved them over. "Come meet Jane, our lead painter. Jane, this is Dawn, she's considering Eckerd for, the fall was it?"  
  
Dawn nodded, and shook the girl's hand. She gestured to her own collar, and Jane hurriedly tucked her tag in, blushing again. "Look's like a great place, so far."  
  
"Oh!" Jane looked down at her birkenstocks. "It is. This is my junior year."  
  
"Are you a theater major?"  
  
"Marine biology." Jane cocked her head. "Swimming with dolphins, all that." She sat down in one of the seats, and Dawn plopped down beside her. Moments later, the two were locked in conversation. The black lights dimmed out, and the stage was washed in warm, sinister reds.   
  
"That's the first scene!" Mike called.  
  
"Where's the gobo?"  
  
A green pentagram lit up in the center of the stage.  
  
"Perfect!" Emma leaned over to Xander. "Mike's our master electrician. This is the first time he's done lighting design, and he's doing a great job. Are you in school?"  
  
"Um, no, ma'am." Xander watched the lighting change again, this time to a broader, lighter color that filled the stage.   
  
"Call me Emma, please." She shouted more praise up to Mike, then leaned in closer to Xander. "Now, why are you REALLY here?"  
  
end part one 


	12. the Scottish Play part 2

Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 4: the Scottish Play  
  
Part Two  
  
"So you two are traveling the country then, recruiting for this . . . school?"  
  
Emma perched on the edge of her desk, watching Xander and Dawn closely. They sat in the two plastic chairs opposite her. A pamphlet for the Helsing Institute lay on her desk, unopened.  
  
"Basically, yeah." Xander leaned back in his chair, uncomfortable with the third degree style questioning he and Dawn had received. "We thought originally that it'd just be students we were looking for, but we could use teachers as well."  
  
"I'd have to discuss it with my husband."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"And I wouldn't be able to head up until the end of the summer. I'm already doing summer classes here. I can tell you, it would shake up the college and the students considerably if I suddenly quit."  
  
"We know." Dawn shifted. "You're taking all of this really well, Miss."  
  
"You can't get far in the theater without at least a little belief in the supernatural." Emma hopped off her desk and moved toward her window, over looking the street and the dorm across it. "And you two are terrible actors." She laughed. "I never thought the curse would manifest itself like this."  
  
Xander and Dawn exchanged a look. Xander leaned forward. "And what curse would that be?"  
  
"The Scottish play, of course." Emma laughed. "Something inevitably goes terribly wrong in the middle of a production. Here I was, keeping a look out for injuries, trying to keep everyone as safe as possible, and Shakespeare throws a curve ball." She glanced at her clock. "I've got to get to rehearsal. It's our first real tech run, and my stage manager will go insane if I'm not there to back her up." She picked up her bag again, and turned back towards the slayer trackers. "I suppose you two can come and watch. We can discuss details in any down time we get?"  
  
"Sure." Xander stood. "If there really is a curse on this thing, than you should probably have back up anyway."  
  
Dawn laughed slightly. "We've averted apocalypses, defeated demons and vampires, and now, we must conquer our greatest challenge yet: Shakespeare!"  
  
Emma smiled. "I'm sure that won't be necessary. It's not that kind of curse, and I doubt the two of you could do anything to change four hundred years of theater history on one college production–"  
  
Jane burst through Emma's door. Her shirt was on properly again, but her face was still flushed, and her hair still wild. "Emma! Come quick! Robbie just fell into the pit!"  
  
Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Great." She followed after Jane, waving Xander and Dawn along behind her. "We're going to need another new Ross."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"Nancy, you're only one who knows all the lines." Emma's hand was pressed to her forehead. Nancy, an unassuming girl in sweats and a black t-shirt, clutched her notebook closer to her.   
  
"I know, Emma, but I'm your stage manager. Who's going to call the show?"  
  
"Besides," Xander muttered, standing a few yards behind them. "Isn't Ross a male part?"  
  
Emma spun. "How good are you at memorization?"  
  
Xander smiled apologetically. "Terrible. I'm a bad actor, remember?"  
  
Emma smiled and turned back to Nancy, who stared at Xander and Dawn in confusion. "We'll get Mike to call the show."  
  
"He's running the light board." Nancy shook her head. "Who are they?"  
  
"Prospective students." Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose. "How about Jane? She's on sound, there's not too many cues, she can take over the light board."  
  
"For most of it, yeah, but what about the 'crack-head' scene? Mike was already complaining they needed a trained octopus for that one. There's no way Jane could do the lights AND the sound for that one."  
  
Dawn leaned over towards Xander. "'Crack-head scene'? No wonder you guys freaked out over your talent show act in high school."  
  
"I've never understood theater, Dawn," Xander shrugged. "I don't think I'm ever going to."  
  
"Look," Nancy was flipping through her notebook, shaking her head. "Maybe we should just postpone performance again?"  
  
Emma shook her head. "We've been trying to get this show off the ground since October. No more delays. I'll perform Ross if I have to."  
  
"No! Emma," Nancy put a hand on her director's shoulder. "You've got too much else to worry about. I'll do Ross, we'll just need an extra hand or two in the booth." She glanced back up at Xander. "Maybe one of the prospectives?"  
  
Xander sighed. "I used to do construction." He raised his hand. "How tough is it to run the board?"  
  
Emma smiled, relief flooding her features. "It's not bad. It's an old board, we can't afford computerized equipment. You're sure you're up to it?"  
  
"We're in town until next week." Xander shrugged. "You said we should stick around to see the show anyway. What do you say, Dawn?"  
  
"Maybe Wood will give me extra credit for this?"  
  
Emma grinned. "It's settled then. Xander, get into the booth. Nancy, let Mike know he's been promoted to ASM. He can show Xander the ropes. Now," Emma turned back to the gathered students by the stage. "Where the hell are our witches?"  
  
"Kayaking." Banquo, an emo-looking kid in Weezer glasses looked up from his script. "With Martin. They said they'd be back in time for rehearsal."  
  
"They'd better be. There's no way we can replace Macbeth himself." Emma gestured for Dawn to take a seat, then strode purposefully up onto the stage. "Warm ups!"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"Here," Mike handed Xander a long sheet of paper. "This chart lists what happens for each cue. This letter tells you which preset to use, X or Y, this is the cue number. I'll give you a standby and a go for each cue. On standby, you make sure its set up, and respond 'standing by'. When I say go, you use these knobs," Mike slowly moved the two, black switches in an alternating fashion. "To switch from X to Y, or back. Each column represents a slider." He pointed to the numbers lining the top of the sheet, then to the numbers at the bottom of the 30 some sliders on the X side of the board. "These numbers," he pointed out the hand written 1-10 digits in the first row. "Tell you the level for each slider." A graded scale lined each of the sliders, 1-10. Xander nodded. "Any questions so far?"  
  
"If I can drive a wrecking ball, I can do this." Xander was reassuring himself as much as Mike, who just gave him a look, and nodded.  
  
"All right, we've got our blue stage set up on X already." At Xander's confused look, he elaborated. "That's what we call the lights that are on when the audience enters, before the show. We've got the first cue preset here, on Y. Let's practice." He backed up a step, giving Xander room in front of the board. "Lighting cue 1, stand by?"  
  
Xander looked down at the board. Mike already knew that one was ready. "Um, standing by."  
  
"Go, light cue 1."  
  
Xander moved the knobs. The lights on the stage faded from a cool amber to the sinister reds he'd seen earlier. Mike winced.  
  
"Good. Um, that was good. I'm dumb." Mike moved back over to Xander. He pointed to the X on the sheet, and then to the small downward arrow next to it. "That means that you take X down, without moving Y, to create a black out. Light cue two is bringing Y up. Try it again?"  
  
Xander looked back down at the chart, which was slowly beginning to make sense to him. "Yeah." He reversed the knobs again, then stood back.  
  
"Stand by, light cue 1,"  
  
"Standing by,"  
  
"Go light cue 1, stand by, light cue 2."  
  
Xander brought the X knob down, and put his right hand on the Y knob. His left was already in action, presetting cue 3. "Standing by,"  
  
"Go light cue 2."   
  
Xander brought the Y slider up, and the sinister reds reappeared. He smiled, then looked back down at the board, carefully lining up each slider on the X side of the board. Mike reappeared at his side.   
  
"Hey, you've got it! That's cue three you're on there, and as soon as that cue goes, you set up four on the other side."  
  
"Got it." Xander glanced at the sheet. "How much time do we usually have between cues?"  
  
"Most of the scenes, about five minutes. Sometimes it's a lot longer, Ross and MacDuff have a fifteen minute scene that lasts about a lifetime."  
  
"We order pizza, on that one." Jane smirked from the sound board across the booth, where she was fiddling with a mini-disk player.  
  
"On the other hand, at the end of the scene where MacDuff's wife and kids bite it, there's about 15 seconds for three cues." Mike smiled. "That's the 'crack-head' scene. I'll help you out with that one."  
  
Xander nodded, still staring at the chart. "For some reason I never knew that theater was so . . . ."  
  
"Analog?" Jane offered, as she began plugging some wires into the back of the sound board. "That's just us. Our theater budget sucks."  
  
"Technical." Xander looked over at the enormous patch board between the light and sound areas. "And vaguely fifties phone operator-ish."  
  
"Spaghetti patch." Mike offered. "We get to repatch some of the lights in intermission, but Jane should be able to handle that."  
  
"Oh goody!" Jane muttered.  
  
"I thought you said you were a prospective." Mike glanced over at Xander, from where he stood studying the script. "You act like you've never seen a control booth before."  
  
"I'm not a theater kind of guy." Xander shrugged. "Dawn's looking at the theater, not me."  
  
"Well," Mike turned cheerful, and shut the SM notebook. "Maybe we'll convert you. We could always use more technicians around here."  
  
"Especially when you're doing a cursed show." Xander muttered. Mike shot him another look. "Just promise me I won't die?"  
  
"Nah." Mike punched him in the shoulder, causing Xander to wince. "I don't believe in that junk. It's the witches that does it. People used to be real superstitious about that stuff, one witch in a play was doom and gloom. Three? That had actors running for cover. But ghosts and curses? Lot of bull, if you ask me."  
  
Xander laughed softly. "Mike, you just keep on believing that. I'll be here to rescue you when it bites you in the ass."  
  
Mike smiled. "You do that, man, you do that."  
  
end part two 


	13. the Scottish Play part 3

Addendum to the author's note: I'm not planning on any X/D shippiness in this story. While I love both Xander and Dawn (obviously), and I was very disappointed when Dawn grew out of her Xander-crush on the show, she's too young for him. Give it ten years, and maybe we'll talk. O.o  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 4: the Scottish Play  
  
Part Three  
  
Dawn looked up as Emma dashed over to her. The director was dressed to kill, wearing a long, red dress, her frizzy hair tied back for once in a neat bun. She'd been flitting about the theater lobby for the last twenty minutes, schmoozing with the guests. Dawn adjusted her headset, and shuffled the programs.   
  
"Tell Mike we'll open the house in five minutes." Emma gasped, then straightened herself up, patting Dawn's shoulder. "Thank you so much for helping out with the house crew. When Mike gives you the signal, close the doors, and come find me in the audience. I'll be in the back, by the booth." She skittered off again, smiling cheerily at an older couple on her way out the side door towards the backstage area. Dawn shrugged, and looked back down at her programs. Theater, she determined, sucked. It was a whole lot of pressure, just for a couple of nights of even more pressure, in front of an audience. The graffitied message by the side of the doors to the stage said it all:   
  
"We do for fun what others fear worse than death."   
  
Dawn smiled at that. The same could be said for her sister, and the entire slayerette crew. Her headset suddenly buzzed on.  
  
"Let's open up the house," Mike's voice was tinny and full of static. "Angela, are the actors about ready?"  
  
Angela, the head of the set crew, responded back. She was a young British woman, and her voice made Dawn miss Giles and the former-potentials. "Just about. We're still waiting on the witches and Macbeth though. I told them not to go kayaking again. We're right in the middle of the bloody Dead Zone."  
  
"Well, get them ready, Ang." Mike sounded annoyed. "I told you, no more movies back stage."  
  
"Shove it, gobshite." The radio went dead for a moment, and Dawn and her fellow house crew member opened the doors. Dawn pushed the small gray button on the side of her headset. "House is open, Mike."  
  
"Great, Dawn."  
  
"What's the Dead Zone?" Dawn couldn't stop herself from asking, and received a few confused looks from the audience for it.  
  
Ang responded. "Think Bermuda Triangle. Now hush up, and let's go."  
  
"Couldn't have said it better myself." Mike's voice fuzzed in. "Jane, sound cue 1, go!"  
  
Dawn couldn't let go of the Dead Zone comment. Bermuda Triangle, on a college campus? Where they were performing a notoriously cursed play. And she and Xander were both recruited to help out. Oh yeah, Buffy was going to ground her for sure.  
  
Twenty minutes later, the lobby was empty, and she and her fellow crew member nodded to each other. Dawn hit the button again. "Audience is in."  
  
"Thanks, doll!" Mike called. "Emma's giving the cue for five minute warning. Ang, we ready back there?"  
  
"Yes. Macbeth and witches are in costume and standing by. The Dead Zone didn't eat the gobshites."  
  
"Good to hear."  
  
Dawn chuckled to herself, and slipped into the darkening theater. As she climbed the stairs to where Emma was seated, she pushed the button one last time. "Hey, Ang, what's a gobshite?"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander smiled to himself. The play was almost over, and so far, everything had gone swimmingly. The crack-head scene was handled, and other than Nancy accidentally calling the bereaved MacDuff "Duncan", just after the king was killed, and Banquo managing to boil an entire Shakespearean speech down to "I'm taking my horse", they'd had no problems.  
  
He refused to relax, however. This play was cursed, and unlike Mike and Jane, he knew they had to take that seriously. He found himself enjoying Macbeth, more than he ever had just reading it in high school. Shakespeare knew what he was talking about. All of the witches prophesies were cryptic and impossible sounding, and the way they manipulated the murderous king was spectacular. He remembered Willow complaining that the witches were being portrayed as too evil in tenth grade, when they'd read the play for class.   
  
He was pretty sure she'd have a different take on that now.  
  
MacDuff and Macbeth circled each other on the stage, their prop-swords gleaming in the eery, purple light.  
  
"Stand by light cue 147."   
  
Xander looked down, it was all set. "Standing by."  
  
"Lay on, MacDuff!"  
  
The two battling Scotsman flew from the stage.  
  
"Go, 147!"  
  
Black out. The audience roared, and he could almost feel Emma grinning through the back of the slayer's head. It was as much Emma as anyone else who'd managed to make Shakespeare clear to him, Xander reflected. She'd make an excellent teacher for the girls at the institute. He imagined how the play would be directed if they had real witches and superheros in the roles. He could just picture Buffy chasing Faith off the stage, sword in hand. Of course, they'd have had to make sure that Buffy wasn't really going to cut off Faith's head.  
  
"Go 148,"  
  
Xander brought the lights back up, as MacDuff strode onto the stage, sword at his side, his left hand held behind his back. In just a few moments, the play would be over. Xander sighed. Just a few more moments, and then they'd be done. Three performances, and Xander and Dawn could be on their way, curse free.  
  
"Holy SHIT." Mike's eyes were wide. Jane smashed a hand over her mouth. Xander shot to his feet.   
  
On stage, MacDuff was presenting the gory head of Macbeth to the cheering audience. Blood dripped steadily onto the stage and coated MacDuff's sword arm. Many of his fellow actors were turning green beneath the lights. Emma and Dawn were standing as well.  
  
"Jane," Mike's voice was soft, hoarse. "Did you rig a fake head for the final performance without telling me?"  
  
Jane slowly shook her head, then spun and vomited into the wastebasket behind her. Xander knew how she felt. In each of the other performances, Macbeth's "head" was represented with a large cabbage in a black sack. There was no way that anyone could have had time to create the spectacular, grisly head in MacDuff's hand.  
  
This wasn't a job for theater students. This was a job for a veteran slayerette, and the slayer's little sister. And possibly, the police.  
  
Xander switched the lights into a black out, and spun on Mike, who stood staring at the now pitch black stage. "Get the actors and technicians to some place secluded, and get the audience out of here, NOW."  
  
Mike blinked. "We've still got one scene left."  
  
"Now, Mike."  
  
"The show must go on,"  
  
Xander grabbed the younger man by the soldiers. "No, it really doesn't. Get moving."  
  
Mike nodded, then moved a shaking hand to his headset controls. "Angie, get everyone to the studio. Dawn, tell Emma to meet us there, and get the audience out of here. Let them think it's, I don't know, avant garde or something?" Mike glanced at Xander, who nodded.   
  
"All right, what's the fastest way to the back stage without alerting the audience?"  
  
"The catwalks." Jane's voice was a nauseous murmur. "I'll take you." She walked unsteadily past both of them, to the ladder by the booth. Xander turned to follow, but was grabbed by Mike at the last moment.  
  
"Um, Xander?"  
  
"Yeah, Mike?" Xander put his hand on top of the ASM's.   
  
"I think I'm starting to believe in curses."  
  
"Good." He turned away, and started up the ladder, then paused. "It'll be okay, Mike."  
  
The ASM was already gone.  
  
end part three 


	14. the Scottish Play part 4

Addendum to the author's note: thanks again to everyone who's reviewed! Comments like those are why I write these things. Once again, any local lore you'd like to pass on and possibly see in future parts of this fic, feel free (thanks Kristy!). To be honest, I had to control myself on this story, to keep from going into too much detail on the various pieces of theater equipment, and the history of Macbeth itself (that's what I get for an education littered in lit and theater....), I hope I didn't lose anyone with what I did leave in. But on with the tale, eh? You knew I wouldn't leave you hanging like that....  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 4: the Scottish Play  
  
Part Four  
  
Navigating the theater catwalks in the dark was no easy task, even with Jane's hand on Xander's the whole way. First he managed to conk his head just coming up the ladder (followed by a very belated warning from the distracted Jane), and if it weren't for the glow in the dark tape and warnings posted on low lying pipes, Xander figured he'd probably have been knocked out three or four times. But they finally made it to the far ladder, and down to the now empty stage. Jane grabbed a flashlight from the backstage control station and swung the beam around the small area.  
  
"What are we looking for?"  
  
"Anything out of the ordinary." Xander followed the beam's path with his eyes. The area was littered with empty bottles, candy wrappers, and bits of costume, but nothing that screamed of the supernatural, or murder. He nearly wet himself when a hand landed on his shoulder.  
  
Dawn was out of breath, and holding a flashlight of her own.  
  
"The audience is out in the lobby, they all want to meet with the cast. I told them they have to change and everything, I don't think they suspect anything is up."  
  
"Good job." Xander spotted the pool of blood center stage as Dawn's flashlight swung past it. He bent down to it, sniffing. Dawn joined him a moment later, while Jane hung back, looking like she might be ill again. Xander frowned. "Notice anything?"  
  
"Like what?" Dawn aimed the flashlight directly at the pool. "It's blood, isn't it?"  
  
"Doesn't smell like it." Dawn gave him a look, and Xander shrugged. "Not that I have the best sense of smell in any case, but you hang around vampires long enough, you start to pick up on things." He touched a finger to the pool, and raised it to his nose. Dawn raised an eyebrow, and Jane gagged as he put the finger in his mouth, and began spitting.  
  
"Gyah!" Xander wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "That's disgusting! And very much NOT blood."  
  
Jane, still holding back, cocked her head. "What does it taste like?"  
  
"Soap?" Xander spat again. "And kinda sweet under that. Not," he gave a half-hearted smile. "That I know what soap tastes like."  
  
"Stage blood then." Jane knelt down beside him. "Our recipe uses corn syrup and detergent. Makes it all glow-y in the black lights. Of course, I've heard real blood glows, too . . . ."  
  
"So it was a fake head, then?" Dawn stood back up, pushing her headset off her ears.   
  
"The blood was, at least." Xander turned back to Jane. "Let's go find the others, see what they have to say."  
  
Jane nodded. She stuck her hand in her pocket, trying to still the shaking. "Um, do you mind if I join you in a minute? I really need a smoke."  
  
"Those things will kill you." Dawn nodded importantly. Jane just stared at her. "Go, fill your lungs with yuck. See if I care."  
  
Jane nodded, and moved, zombie like, toward the stage doors. Xander took one last look at the stage blood, and moved to follow. Suddenly Jane was back, her face somehow even paler in the light cast by the outside lamps, a cigarette hanging unlit from her lips. "Um, guys? I found something unusual."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"Ew." Dawn tapped the body with her foot. "And yuck, too."  
  
"That's definitely Martin." Jane pointed at a tribal looking tattoo on the headless body's left ankle. "Can I be sick again?"  
  
Xander just stared down at the corpse. The neck ended in a neat stub, just above the shoulders. He expected to see arterial sprays on the wall, or at least some blood pooling around the neck, but the pavement beneath it was clean. He walked toward where the head should be, then noticed something odd. "It's breathing."  
  
"What?" Jane lit her cigarette, calming slightly as she pulled the smoke into her lungs. "How the hell can it breathe without a head?"  
  
Dawn shrugged. "I've read a severed head keeps living for another couple seconds after it was cut off. Maybe the body does, too?" She glanced down at her watch. "For an extra, ten minutes?"  
  
Xander bent down. A series of chalked symbols lined the point at which the neck ended. "Someone's been casting spells."  
  
"Okay," Jane puffed out smoke with every syllable. "Curses, I can handle. Insane actors? Par for the course. But there's no way someone was casting spells out here."  
  
"You have another explanation for this?" Xander kicked lightly at Martin's chest, only to have its hand swat him away. He shrieked and jumped back.   
  
"He was really healthy?"  
  
The studio door, only ten feet or more away from where they were standing, opened. Nancy peeked her head out. Her eyes were wide. "Hey, Emma wants you guys in here." She swallowed. "Like, now."  
  
Xander nodded, and gave Martin a wide berth as he passed. He could hear Emma well before he entered the studio theater.  
  
"Now, Frank, I think you need to apologize to your fellow actors."  
  
The cast and crew of Macbeth sat in a loose circle around Emma and Frank-Banquo, who still held the pale, bloodied head of Martin. Frank was looking penitent, and embarrassed.  
  
"It wasn't my idea!" He shot a look up at Jane as she entered. "Martin said it'd be fun, like a practical joke!" Emma glared at him, and he went back to studying his boots. "Sorry,"  
  
"Geez." Martin's eyes shot open, a scowl pulling itself across his face. Frank jumped and nearly dropped him. "Calm down, people! No one liked the cabbage sack!"  
  
A few of the spear-carriers fainted. Jane huddled in the doorway, pulling frantically on her cigarette. Mike stepped over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Xander and Dawn stepped up next to Emma.  
  
"Found a spell, huh?" Xander looked the severed-Martin-head in the eye. "Pretty damned stupid if you ask me. Spells have this wacky tendency to go really, really wrong where you least expect them. You could have been killed."  
  
"No way!" Martin glared back. "Who the hell are you, anyway? Some prospie, who got to help out a the last minute? We checked everything over. And I didn't die, did I?" Martin smirked. "Hell, I didn't even bleed."  
  
"Which explains the stage blood," Jane murmured. Mike grabbed her cigarette, taking a drag of his own. The whole theater was on edge, with the possible exception of Xander, Dawn, and Emma. Dawn frowned.  
  
"Who's 'we'?" She looked at Frank. "Did you help him?"  
  
"No way!" This time, Frank did drop Martin, which elicited a yelp from the head, and startled shuffling from the cast. "My sister nearly went nuts casting spells. I don't do that stuff."  
  
Dawn scanned the rest of the gathered students. Everyone was still staring, shocked, at the fallen Martin-head, except for three blond girls in the corner, who were staring either at their feet, the ceiling, or the wall. She smiled.  
  
"Of course. The witches."  
  
Naomi, the tallest witch, shot her head from her shoes. She looked quickly from Dawn, to Martin, to Emma. "You told us we should research our parts, right?" She went back to her toe gazing. "We found a witch, a real one. She gave us the spell, said it would be fun. That's why we were always late to rehearsal, we were studying it."  
  
"In kayaks?" Angie was calming down. "Shite, you were out in the Dead Zone, weren't you?"  
  
"What Dead Zone?" Emma cocked her head. "I want all the details, right now, or you three are failing basic acting."  
  
Naomi and her friends winced. "Over by the skyway. There's all sorts of accidents out there. We'd heard the rumors, the Summit Venture, the Indian burial grounds . . . . I thought they were bunk, but then Martin and I were kayaking out there, and this woman appeared on the water . . . ."  
  
"Great." Xander rubbed the bridge of his nose. "A ghost-witch. And I thought Sunnydale was bizarre."  
  
"She gave us the spell, and it worked fine. Martin's fine–"  
  
"I'm BRUISED," Martin lay on the floor on his face, his voice muffled.  
  
"And we're all fine, and the audience loved it."  
  
"You should have at least told me." Emma's fire was dying down. "All right people go get changed, find your family and friends. Naomi, you girls get Martin's head reattached." She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment. "Jane, I want a cigarette while you guys finish up." Her eyes opened. "Cast party is at my place as scheduled. I want all the information you can give me on the spell." Her eyes softened. "You guys did good tonight, all things considered. I'm proud of the way you all handled yourselves in the crisis. We've got class on Monday, so no overdoing it tonight." She clapped her hands, and the crew began to scatter. Frank skittered out of the studio as if his ass was on fire. Naomi hesitantly lifted Martin by the hair.  
  
When most of the crowd had left, Emma turned to Xander and Dawn. "And thank you guys, again, for helping." She smiled. "Maybe I will make the move. St. Petersburg is beginning to look like something less than the paradise I first thought it was." She shrugged. "At least your lot is trained to handle this." She crossed her arms, hugging herself. "You want to join us at the cast party?"  
  
"Will there be drinking?" Dawn bounced, then halted at Xander's look. "Of, juice. And soda and water. Because I don't drink booze." She glowered. "I'm too young."  
  
"You're damn right you are." Xander hugged her across her shoulders. "'sides, I'll be needing you to drive tomorrow. Hung over Xander is a terrible thing behind the wheel."  
  
"I hate you sometimes, do you know that?"  
  
"Wouldn't have it any other way."  
  
"Um," Naomi, holding Martin, was the only cast member left. "There's kind of a problem."  
  
Martin was rolling his eyes. Emma tensed again.  
  
"We don't have a re-attachment spell."  
  
end part four 


	15. the Scottish Play part 5

Addendum to the . . . well, further information: the "Summit Venture" was a ship in the St. Pete area back in the eighties, the site of one of the larger accidents in the Dead Zone history. There's lots of information on the web and in "Tampa Triangle Dead Zone" by Capt. Bill Miller (copyright 1997), available on ebay if no where else (a fun read for strange enthusiasts of the Tampa area), but I'll sum up a bit here. Basically, the Venture was a large vessel, that one morning was set to sail under the enormous Skyway Bridge south of St. Petersburg. It somehow ended up 800 feet off course, and crashed into the bridge supports, taking out a large chunk of the highway. A few cars and a greyhound bus went over the edge, and everyone in them were killed. Interesting side note, this tragedy put the Eckerd College Search and Rescue team on the map, as the students were brought in to aid the Coast Guard in pulling up the bodies. It's a dark story, and the reason why a lot of people avoid the Skyway bridge. Not as fun as EC freshmen racing the British Navy down Frenchman's Creek, but it's a tale of Eckerd history, nonetheless.  
  
And: O.A.R. is a MD-based band. They rock. Check them out. The song I use here is "Crazy Game of Poker". Highly recommended.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 4: the Scottish Play  
  
Part Five  
  
Xander swigged back a gulp of his Smirnoff, watching various cast members gyrate to O.A.R. Some of the girls seemed determined to impress him with their stripper-style moves, and he was in no position to complain. Mike had spent the early part of the evening quizzing Xander on all things supernatural ("Vampires? Really? What about werewolves? NO way! Leprechauns? Oh. Well, score one for the sceptics, anyway."), but was now busy in some other part of the house with Jane. He smiled, bittersweet memories of post-apocalyptic coitus with Anya filling his head. Dawn was dancing with the girls, and he downed another large swallow, reminding himself that, technically, she was still only five years old. He did not want to turn into Uncle Cracker.  
  
"I say revolution and you say dja-da-da-da-DAAAA!" The girls raised their glasses high above their heads. Ang swayed her hips slowly to the floor, then pounded her hand down and shot, ass first, back to her feet. Xander could tell by the look on Dawn's face that she'd be practicing that move in the hotel room for weeks to come. He grimaced.  
  
Not only would it be wrong, and illegal, Buffy would kill him. He shook his head, and decided to find another place to sit.  
  
He found Emma sitting out on the front porch, chatting with Nancy. Naomi wandered by, holding her hands out in front of her in a desperate attempt to keep the barely re-attached but still thoroughly sloshed Martin from falling over. Martin, looking like his neck had been snapped, leered over his shoulder at her.   
  
Xander plopped down next to Emma. "Looks like they're going to need to work on that spell."  
  
Nancy grinned. "Lucky you had the contacts to get it to them in the first place. I knew Naomi was flighty, but this takes the whole fucking bakery." She glanced at Emma, then at her feet. "Pardon my french."  
  
Emma patted her shoulder reassuringly. "I'm not going to be your teacher for much longer, Nancy. And I'm well aware that my students like to use harsh language."  
  
"I can't believe you're leaving!" Nancy flung her arms out to the sides. "What does Cleveland have that Eckerd doesn't?"  
  
"Snow?" Emma shrugged. "I doubt I'd get tenure down here anyway, I'm still considered to be rather young for a professor. Xander's private school just sounds like the right direction for me right now." She glanced up at him. "Besides, I'm looking at a substantial pay raise, RIGHT?"  
  
Xander chuckled weakly. "Sure! If you go right now, you're looking at half our teaching budget. You only make 12 grand a year down here, anyway, right?"  
  
Emma decided on a change of subject. "So where are you and you're 'sister' off to next? Back to the home office?"  
  
"We've barely begun. We probably won't get back until after you do." Xander shrugged. "Willow says we're aiming for Gainesville next, so it's a short drive at least. She couldn't give us much more than that."  
  
"This school sounds like its run by teenagers." Nancy frowned into her rum and coke.   
  
"Of course not." Xander tried to look affronted, but suspected he failed. "It's run by an accredited administrator, and funded by a long standing English tradition. It's just mostly staffed with teenagers."  
  
Nancy laughed, but Emma, realizing it wasn't quite a joke, simply smiled. She leaned back against one of the porch pillars. "You know, I thought I was done moving around. Tim and I were talking about kids. Guess that's going to postponed for a bit."  
  
Xander sighed. "You don't have to go, Emma."  
  
"If what you've told me is true, then I really do." She glanced over at Nancy. "Be a doll, would you, and fetch your director another beer?"  
  
Nancy saluted. "It's your last chance to order me around as your stage manager, so I guess that's fair." She shuffled into the house. Emma turned to face Xander.  
  
"Tell me more about Sunnydale, and the slayers." Emma smiled. "I want to know exactly what you're dragging me into."  
  
Xander tossed back the last of his Smirnoff. "I'm going to need some more liquor for that."  
  
end part five  
  
tbc in "Gator-Slayers" 


	16. GatorSlayers part 1

Addendum to the disclaimer: Gainesville really exists. It also just might be the center of hell in Florida, but that's just my personal experience. Other than the city, and the café I'm referring to in this chapter, just about everything non-Buffy in this story is completely my own. I just couldn't seem to find anything really intriguing in this town, other than the bizarre activities of any Greek influenced state school.   
  
addendum to the author's note: okay, so I really thought I would get back to this sooner, but I've had a VERY crazy week in RL, so bare with me. I also thought this particular story of the series would be longer, but again, craziness, and I just can't seem to bring myself to spend too much time in a story taking place in the city I'm about to be moving out of. So yeah. Hope you enjoy it, despite!  
  
this story is going to be a bit of a departure from the general theme I've had so far of creepy beastie/new slayer per story. Instead, I'm focusing a bit more on relationships, and on Dawn and Xander in particular.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 5: Gator-Slayers  
  
Part One  
  
"I thought you were kidding about that hangover thing."  
  
Xander sank down further in the passenger seat and pressed his hands to his face. "So did I." He'd tried to take it easy at the cast party, and had thought he'd known his limits. But the pounding headache was growing exponentially worse the closer they got to Gainesville, to the point that he was beginning to hallucinate a silver glow hanging over the whole city.  
  
I-75 wasn't a bad highway, generally smooth and straight, with no sudden hills or bumps, but the motion of the car was still playing havoc with his stomach. It didn't help that Dawn, the youthful driver she was, was doing well over the speed limit, making sharp lane changes so she wouldn't have to slow down.  
  
"So, am I pretending to look at the school again?" Gainesville was the home of the University of Florida, one of the largest schools in the country, and she wasn't looking forward to driving around the city, waiting for Xander to spot the slayer.  
  
"I don't think so." Xander's voice was hoarse, and forced out through clenched teeth. "We've got an apartment complex, this time."  
  
"I can't believe that the Dead Zone is still playing hell with the locators."  
  
"Could be worse."  
  
"I know." They lapsed back into silence. Dawn couldn't even turn on the radio in deference to Xander's migraine. Instead, her mind kept looping what little of the O.A.R. song she knew. Ang had promised to send her a copy of the CD, via Cleveland.  
  
Dawn spotted their exit ahead, and pulled sharply tot he right. Xander gagged and clung to the door handle.   
  
"Pull over," he whimpered.  
  
"We're almost there."  
  
"Pull. Over." He gagged again, and Dawn hit the brakes, belatedly turning on the hazard lights. Xander lurched out of the car as it pulled to a stop on the shoulder, and Dawn hummed, drumming on the wheel to cover the sound until he finished. When he climbed back into the car and grabbed a water bottle, she forced herself to stop, then pulled ahead into the exit ramp. A couple of blocks later, they found the Gator Lake Club, and Dawn started looking for a parking space. Xander, looking only marginally more alive, levered himself to his feet and glanced around.   
  
He slammed backward into the car, his hand flying to cover the left side of his face. Dawn swooped over to him a moment later.  
  
"Jesus, are you okay?"  
  
"The eye." Xander hissed, hand still clamped to his head, his right eye squeezed shut. "Grab my eye!"  
  
"What?!"  
  
Xander pointed blindly into the grass. "Popped out. Please?"  
  
Dawn looked where he pointed, understanding blooming as she caught a glimmer a few feet away.  
  
"Holy shit."  
  
"Dawn, please," Xander struggled to sit up, looking green. He could see his own crumpled face, and Dawn's confused glance, and his headache roared. Dawn reached for the eye, and he flinched as her fingers poked directly at the faux pupil. He knew it wouldn't hurt, but still reacted as though the prosthetic was his real flesh and blood.  
  
Dawn's hand brought blessed darkness, and he heaved a breath as the headache faded. "There's saline in my backpack, front pocket. Put it in the tupperware with some of the water and the solution." Dawn quickly complied, then helped him to his feet.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"You know how it feels when you've been in a dark room and someone suddenly turns on the lights?"  
  
"Yeah, but . . . ."  
  
Xander gestured to the large group of college students, playing basketball, getting into cars, or just hanging out on the street.  
  
"They're all slayers." Xander blinked his good eye. "Well, not the guys,"  
  
Dawn looked around the parking lot, eyes wide. She swallowed.  
  
"We're gonna need more pamphlets."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Two days later, the Scooby Gang sat around three outdoor tables at Maude's Café in downtown Gainesville, sipping coffee. Giles, Buffy, Willow Kennedy, Andrew, and Joanna had piled into the school van as soon as Dawn had explained the situation to them, leaving Wood and Faith to continue training at the school.  
  
They were already discussing the best way to contact the fifty-plus slayers living at the Gator Lake Club.  
  
Xander sat off to one side, watching his friends talk and shooting smiles at Joanna, who'd insisted that, as Dawn and his first recruit, she was qualified to help. She still looked a little uncomfortable with the veteran Scoobs, but by the way she and Dawn were giggling, Xander suspected she was starting to relax.  
  
Xander leaned back, scanning the crowd. Fortunately, the only three slayers at the café were with his group, giving Xander a reprieve from the overload of slayer-glimmer. His eyes landed on an unassuming brunette across the patio.  
  
She had short, wildly curly hair and standard issue college-Weezer glasses. Her platform sandals hung off her tapping toes, and she had an array of books and notebooks in front of her. Xander never would have noticed her if she weren't staring openly at their group.  
  
She caught his eye and blushed furiously, turning her wide gaze back to her notebook. He saw her mouth something that looked like "no fucking way" before she started scribbling furiously in her book.  
  
"Xander, are you listening?"  
  
Xander turned back to the group to see Willow watching him.  
  
"Did you see–" Xander turned back to the girl, only to find a meta-fictional shimmer around an empty table. He shook his head, turning back to the conversation, the incident passing from his mind. "You were saying?"  
  
"Buffy, Andrew, Joanna, and I will scout out locations for an assembly." Giles looked up from his own notebook. "Xander? You and the rest will keep an eye on the girls at the club. Talk to them if you like, but we'll wait until we have a location before we really approach them. Try to work out a flier to get them to attend." Giles glanced at the resident witch. "Willow, can you work out a temporary enchantment for slayer identification? We'll all have to be ready to recruit, to make sure we identify them all, and get their attention."  
  
"Sure, Giles." Willow pulled out a book.  
  
"It's going to be hard to convince that many girls in such an impersonal environment," Kennedy took her arm from around Willow to wave away smoke drifting over from a nearby table. "What are we going to tell them?"  
  
Xander caught Joanna's eye, thinking back to the Tastee Diner in Bethesda. "Simple," he smiled at her as she tilted her head curiously. "We'll just have to tell them a good story."  
  
End part one 


	17. GatorSlayers part 2

Addendum to the Disclaimer: The song is "One Day More" from Les Miserables. I might be stretching characterization a bit to get both Xander and Dawn to know the lyrics, but hey, I went through a Les Mis phase, and I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility that Dawn and Mrs. Harris did too.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 5: Gator-Slayers  
  
Part Two  
  
"How's this?" Andrew leaned back in his chair at the classic round hotel table, gesturing toward the laptop's screen. Xander looked up from his book, then moved to lean over Andrew's shoulder.  
  
The Illustrator document was headed off with a modified version of the "Slayer Mobile" logo Andrew had tried to put on Xander's car. Instead of the S.M. initials, an H and I intertwined over the sleeker looking cross and stake. Xander nodded, and Andrew scrolled down to the large, cheerful ComicSans lettering of the flier itself.  
  
"Sudden bursts of strength? Learning to be afraid of the dark? We know why.   
  
"If you're wondering what you're supposed to be doing with your life, if you want to make the world a better place, we can help. We know what you are and what you're capable of."  
  
Xander frowned. "Points on truthfulness, but I think for once we actually want to be a little bit more cryptic than that." He shrugged. "It's a good start."  
  
Andrew nodded, more serious than Xander had seen him in a long time. He was already highlighting the text, making thoughtful noises as he began typing in more letters. Xander patted him on the back before turning back to the rest of the group in the hotel room. "I like the logo though."  
  
"It's the official seal now." Andrew grinned. "Sure you don't want the Slayer-Mobile decal?"  
  
"Yes. A thousand times, yes." Xander scanned the room. Joanna sat hunched over a spiral notebook on one of the beds, trying to work out exactly what story she was going to tell the gathered slayers. Willow flipped through a book of spells, shaking her head, occasionally glancing up at Kennedy and Buffy, who were sparing in the small space between the end of the bed and the walls. "How's the rest of the preparation going?"  
  
Kennedy wiped sweat from her forehead, then launched a kick at Buffy's head, which the elder slayer easily dodged. "Great." She glared at Buffy. "You're going to have to let me get SOME shots in,"  
  
"You're gonna have to be able to hit me, then." Buffy smiled. "We've got to show these girls EXACTLY what they're all capable of. That means you've got to stop telegraphing your moves."  
  
Kennedy growled, kicking her opponent sharply in the shin. Buffy winced.  
  
"A little middle-school playground-ish, but . . . yeah, like that."   
  
Xander smiled. Having watched Buffy fight for seven years, he knew that middle-school playground was probably exactly what was needed to get through her defenses. The eldest slayer was simply too used to trained opponents and body shots. Kennedy threw a punch at her face, and the fight started up again.   
  
In reality, the two slayers probably didn't need to practice the sparring demonstration, but he suspected that both still had their issues with each other, and welcomed the chance to cause a little bit of pain. He moved over to where Willow sat with her book.  
  
"And on the magical demo end of things?"  
  
Willow looked up. She had a haunted look on her face. "I don't know, Xander." She gestured to the book. "I mean, yeah, these spells are all really . . . REALLY basic, barely more than pencil floating, but . . . this seems a bit like 'unnecessary magic' to me. I don't know if I'm okay with this."  
  
Xander put his arm over her shoulders. "I know, Willow. But we've got to offer proof to these girls, that what we're talking about is real. We're going to try and convince them to leave everything they've ever known and loved to come and train with us, and to do that, we either need a life threatening hoard of vampires, or a beautiful witch with more than just basic parlor tricks."  
  
"Stop hitting on my girlfriend!" Kennedy barely dodged a spin kick from Buffy, and Xander blew a raspberry at her. Willow turned back to her book, blushing slightly. It had been years since she'd crushed on Xander, but every now and then he caught her off-guard, and muscle memory turned her briefly back into the shy tenth grade computer geek who knew his blood pressure.  
  
"And how 'bout you, Jo?" Xander shifted to look at the young recruit.  
  
"Don't call me Jo." It came out as a off-handed mutter as Joanna ripped a whole page out of her notebook, crumpled it, and threw it towards the trash can. It missed, landing on top of a growing pile of similar pages. "I'm not a writer, dammit!"  
  
Xander sighed. "You don't have to be. Look," he stood, and placed a hand over her notebook, nearly getting it stabbed with her ballpoint pen. "Don't plan it out. Just talk from the heart. Giles can be prepared-speech-guy. You're out to be just like them."  
  
"Easy for you to say, you and Dawn are the experienced parties. Is it too late for me to go back to Cleveland?"  
  
"One word:" Buffy blocked a punch and used Kennedy's momentum to slam her toward the wall. "Wood's 'I'm the son of a slayer, I know better than you' speech."  
  
Joanna grimaced. "That's a lot more than one word."  
  
Xander grinned, then glanced around the room again. "Where is Dawn, anyway?"  
  
Joanna shrugged, doodling on her notebook. "She's in my room. She wanted to unwind with my cd player for awhile. I think she needed some non-Xander time."  
  
Joanna had lugged her mid-nineties boom-box down from Cleveland with her, much to the dismay of those who were packing the school van. Xander couldn't help but be a little thankful for that, he knew that he and Dawn were starting to get a little cabin-feverish from being in such close quarters with each other for the last few weeks. But he also knew that Buffy being back had turned Dawn back into Little Sister mode, rather than the rather grown up young woman she had become on their road trip.  
  
"I'll go check in on her." Xander stood. "Let her know it's almost time to go trolling for slayers." At Joanna's exasperated look, he continued. "I promise not to cut in on her 'non-Xander' time too much, but we need to get rolling on this if we're going to get those fliers out before our midnight slayer conference."  
  
Joanna looked at the clock and squeaked. She began writing furiously again, and Xander shrugged. He knew she'd do well, he just wondered how to convince HER of that fact. But he wasn't lying, Andrew was getting started on the printing and they only had a few more hours left before they had to get to the auditorium that Giles had somehow managed to rent at the last minute. He slipped out the door, narrowly avoiding another tossed piece of paper, and turned down the hall toward the room Joanna shared with Dawn.  
  
The muffled bass notes coming through the door reassured him that Dawn was not, in fact, practicing stripper-esque dance moves, so Xander decided to forgo knocking in favor of simply slipping in. Dawn was standing between the two queen sized beds, a hairbrush in her hands, her eyes shut tight as she sang along with the cd player. He recognized the music from his mother's brief Broadway phase when he was in elementary school, and he could help smiling as he watched Dawn affect an agonized grimace and raise her left arm in a yearning gesture.  
  
"One day more!   
  
Another day, another destiny,   
  
this never ending road to Calvary!   
  
These men who seem to know my crime   
  
will surely come a second time!   
  
One day more!"  
  
She swung both arms to her chest, clutching her hands over her heart, and pursed her lips at an imaginary partner.  
  
"I did not live until today!   
  
How can I live when we are parted?"   
  
She slammed back into agonized to put in another "One day more" before returning to love struck.   
  
"Tomorrow you'll be worlds away,   
  
and yet with you my world has started!"  
  
Xander grinned. This had been one of his mother's favorites, too, and he'd helped her perform the higher parts before he had decided it wasn't manly enough, and his mother had started drinking. He stepped up behind Dawn, and took on Eponine in a throaty falsetto.  
  
"One more day all on my own," he managed to croon, before Dawn spun and slammed into him in shock.  
  
"Don't DO that!" She punctuated her protest with a blow to his chest, and he feigned hurt.  
  
"I know, my voice is terrible, but this song really requires more than just a solo artist."  
  
Dawn growled with false menace, and he held up his hands.  
  
"Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you, but we're about to get moving." He leaned over and hit the pause button on the stereo. "May I ask what brought on this Les Mis fest?"  
  
"Jane and Mike were doing Val Jean and Javier at the cast party. You know, after they were . . . doing . . . each other." She blushed. "Do you think I could be an actress?"  
  
"I think you could be whatever you want, Dawnie."  
  
"I'm not kidding! After we get the Institute set up, I want to go to college. And theater looked like so much fun."  
  
"I'm not kidding either." Xander sat back on the bed. "You know you don't have to stay with the Institute. You've still got a whole life ahead of you to plan, and us old farts are not going to hold you back. With no PTB given destiny, you can literally go anywhere and do anything you want." He patted the bed beside him. "Honestly? I think you're damned lucky that way."  
  
Dawn sat, and punched his arm. "I'm not the only one, you know. You could go back into construction, now that you've got that eye."  
  
Xander shook his head. "I love doing construction work, but I think I made my choice a long time ago. It's too late for me to back out now." He shrugged. "Besides, that group needs the comic relief, an ordinary guy to remind them that life isn't all demons and ooglies." He stood. "But for now, I know you wanted your 'me' time, so I'll stop interrupting your rehearsal. Meet us out front in . . ." he glanced at his watch. "Half an hour?"  
  
"Yeah." Dawn restarted the cd, and the Thenardiares sung out their dubious intentions. Xander smiled and headed for the door. Dawn did have a great, if untrained, singing voice. As he went back to the presentation preparations, he couldn't shake the image of her, center stage, belting into the spotlight from his head.  
  
He was going to do everything he could to make sure that image would happen.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander checked his watch, then his printed list, then the large pile of fliers on the chair next to him. It was time. He slipped into the science auditorium and softly closed the doors behind him.  
  
He was absolutely exhausted. They all were. They'd spent most of the afternoon in the Gator Lake Club, identifying slayers, handing out fliers, and convincing the girls that they NEEDED to attend. He was pretty sure they'd still managed to miss a few, but nearly every girl they'd cornered was now seated in the auditorium, fidgeting, looking nervous or bored, or, in the case of a set of five girls in the back, very excited. He'd had to turn away quite a few boyfriends at the door, apparently the statement that only those girls given the flier could attend had come off as suspicious, a fact which didn't surprise him in the least.   
  
He'd been given door duty due to the simple fact that he was the one who could recognize if the attendees were in fact slayers. While the world was slowly accepting the idea of vampires and magic, he knew that there were simply too many skeptics out there to come completely out in the open. They wanted to make sure their audience was ONLY the ones who really mattered, the ones who had the stuff.  
  
Xander had let in a few extra girls, though. Mostly because their slayer friends wouldn't attend without them. He understood that kind of loyalty, that kind of friendship. And he firmly believed, though the Institute didn't have the money for it yet, that someday they should open a slayerette training facility as well. Maybe he could sneak some of these slayerettes in training into the school now. It would certainly soften the blow of sudden responsibility.  
  
He looked up at the stage, where Joanna was positioning herself behind the podium. Her story was the introduction, the first whammy to catch the girls' attention. Then Giles would do his "to every generation" speech, followed by the fight demonstration by Kennedy and Buffy, and then the magic show from Willow. They'd finish up with a Q&A session with the whole gang, but until then, Xander was just planning to watch. Part of him wanted to be up there on stage with his friends, but a larger part was just kind of happy that for once it wasn't him who had to do the explaining.  
  
Joanna was pale, looking a bit like she'd like to run away or throw up on the spot. She was fingering a sheath of paper nervously, casting glances out over the murmuring audience. He caught her eye, and gave her a thumbs up.  
  
She smiled, shakily, then glanced back down at her paper. Then, to Xander's surprise, she shrugged. She dropped the paper onto the podium with a satisfied smirk, then pushed the whole thing aside and strode purposefully to the edge of the small stage. The murmuring rose in volume as she sat down, cross-legged, and once more scanned her audience.  
  
"Hi." Her voice carried to the last rows of the room without the aid of the microphone attached to the podium, and she seemed slightly startled by the sound of it. Xander nodded approvingly at her again, surprised himself at the room's acoustics. He supposed there must be hidden sound panels in the ceiling and walls. Joanna sat up straighter.  
  
"My name is Joanna Christenson. I'm seventeen years old, and I'm a student at the Helsing Institute in Cleveland. There will be time for speeches and questions later, but right now, I'm here to tell you all a story."  
  
The girls in the audience shifted slightly. Several of the bored students looked up, intrigued, while others started whispering to their friends. Joanna ignored all of that, and stood. Her expression was becoming more and more settled as she continued, and Xander couldn't help but grin. This was exactly what he was hoping Joanna could do.  
  
"It starts last year, in May, in the city of Bethesda, just outside of DC. It's a strange story, but I think you might just find it familiar. It's about a girl, just like all of you, though perhaps a bit younger, a bit more naive. She was waiting for her bus after school, when two of her fellow classmates began to fight."  
  
Xander leaned back against the door as Joanna began to pace the stage. He had wondered what she had been doing when she was called. He wondered that about all of the slayers, those he'd met and those they still didn't know about. He hoped, eventually, to hear all of those stories, but he doubted any would be told quite as well as this one. Where had Joanna learned to hold an audience's attention like that?  
  
She marked on the stage where the two boys had been fighting, moving slowly through their gestures, and their moves, her body language changing subtly from character to character. She explained how the boys' battle had moved through the waiting teens, who backed up, forming a circle, and chanting. How even the few teachers and administrators that had been standing nearby looked as though they weren't willing to step in.  
  
How, just as the boys reached her position, she had felt the swelling of power within herself, and known without really knowing that she was to be the one to break it up.   
  
Her voice held a level of amusement that could only have come from a good distance from the event itself as she explained how she, untrained, had ended up getting her butt kicked before taking the two boys down. And how the teachers had finally stepped in, when she'd knocked a boy twice her size to the pavement, and suspended her for a week while tending to the boys' bruises.   
  
The story didn't end there. Joanna told the group of strangers how her grandmother and grandfather had taken the news that their girl had been in a fight, and how she had accidentally injured one of her few friends weeks later in a good natured wrestling match over, of all things, a sock. How her new strength had alienated her from her teachers and peers, how she became known in the principal's office, and how she'd spent six months in confusion, and occasional despair, over her powers before she was "rescued" (and Xander had to blink at that one, it wasn't how he had seen it at all) by two strangers who came and offered her a chance to use her abilities for the good of the world. She did not tell them about the Cabin John beast or the battle in the woods.  
  
"That day in May?" She concluded, seating herself once more on the stage. "I don't remember the date, but perhaps some of you do. It was the day that an 'earthquake' completely leveled a small town in California. It was nearly the same time that nature seemed to turn on Los Angeles, bringing fear of terrorists and Armageddon to the country. And it's the day that my life, and yours, changed forever. It's the day that we were all called, by a young witch and a small army of the bravest people you will ever meet, to become the protectors of the world. It's the day we became slayers."  
  
Joanna smiled up at Xander then, who could only nod slowly at her. She'd done better than he'd hoped, though her finale had brought the silently listening audience back to a dull roar of questions and scoffing comments. She stood again, as Giles stepped out of the audience to the stage.  
  
"What's a slayer? That's for this guy to tell you. Listen carefully to everything you hear tonight, and keep a VERY open mind. You might not believe it, but hopefully by the end of the evening, you'll have a better idea of the world, the Helsing Institute, and most importantly, of what you and I are. I sincerely hope that you all will become my classmates soon." She blushed, and glanced down. "Um, thank you."  
  
The audience watched quietly as Joanna left the stage and Giles retrieved the podium and cleared his throat. Xander ducked quietly back through the door. He didn't really feel like listening to Giles' lecture for the umpteenth time, and he knew that this was probably his last chance at a quiet moment before he and Dawn would head out to continue their slayer search. These girls were going to have a LOT of questions, and he was one of only a handful of people who could answer them.  
  
end part two 


	18. GatorSlayers part 3

Addendum to the author's note: This story is titled "Gator-Slayers" because, obviously, there's a hell of a lot of slayers in it, and because it takes place in Gainesville, home of the Florida Gators. I picked and rejected a lot of local legends for this one, and considered, briefly, creating a gator demon a bit like the loan-shark demon from Tabula Rosa, but decided, eh, I'll give the characters a break. Fun trivia fact: the University of Florida is where Gatoraide was invented, to help the Florida Gators do even better at football.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 5: Gator-Slayers  
  
Part Three  
  
"So," Xander sat himself down next to Willow on the front steps of the hotel, watching as Kennedy finished loading the last suitcase into the van. "How many new recruits did we get on this one?"  
  
"Not quite as many as we hoped." Willow shrugged. "We've got phone numbers and contact information for all the girls at the meeting though, so there's still a chance of convincing them. Over all, about twelve girls are transferring immediately, another twenty are coming in next fall, and at least ten are 'strongly considering' it."  
  
"Not bad for one weekend's work."  
  
"Yep! And I didn't go all veiny from the magic demo, and Kennedy got to kick Buffy's ass a bit, so she's much happier. All in all? I'd say we rock."  
  
"Definitely." Xander looked out at the younger slayer, hefting a large black carry-all onto the roof rack. He caught the look of disappointment and fear in Willow's eyes as she watched her girlfriend, and sighed. It'd been too long since he and his childhood friend had had a good talk. It was weird not knowing every detail of her life for the last month he'd been on the road. "So, since we did so well, what's with the angsty feeling you're getting every time you look at your jailbait?"  
  
"No!" Willow shook her head wildly. "No, no angsty feelings. None at all! Kennedy and I are doing just fine, she got a new all for her tongue stud and it's–really probably not something you want to hear about. She's mad at me."  
  
"Why?" Xander put an arm over the redhead's shoulders. "And yes, I don't want to hear about tongue studs, there's only so much jealousy one guy can handle."  
  
Willow watched Kennedy tie down the last of the roof load, and then walk back toward the hotel lobby, very carefully not looking in her direction. She let the silence stretch out as she considered how to explain.  
  
"I'm leaving."  
  
"Well, yeah. Have to get back up to Cleveland, make sure that Wood and Faith haven't managed to kill any of our new slayer pals."  
  
"No, Xand." Willow looked over at him through her hair. "I'm leaving the country. The Institute is pretty well set up now, and the Devon coven has got the slayer tracking completely covered. I'm going over there in two weeks, to finish my not-going-evil training. It's been so long since I had to go back to Sunnydale, I think that everyone kind of forgot that I never got that done."  
  
Xander nodded. "I know I did. But you're good, Will. You haven't even pretended to go black-eyed in more than a year. Are you sure you need to go back?"  
  
"I've got to see it through." Willow shrugged. "I don't really have much left to do, actually. The coven says that they only have one more assignment for me, considering how well I've done without them. But it IS kind of a doozy."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"They want me to travel. Around the UK and around Europe. For a year. Without using my magic, unless it's an absolute life threatening situation with no other choice."  
  
"Wow. That's . . ." Xander looked out over the parking lot. "Big."  
  
"Way big. Oh, but its good! I mean, they're not making me go alone, they're sending one of the junior coven girls or someone along with me. And we think that I can probably go slayer tracking over there while I'm at it, since we know they're all over the world, not just in the states. It should be . . . fun. I hope. Kennedy kinda went nuts, though, when she found out she couldn't come with me."  
  
"Why can't she?"  
  
"Hello, she's a slayer, and Wood wants her to be one of the trainers once she's got her GED squared away. She needs to stay here. And . . . and I think this is something I need to do without her. Without anyone I already know. I've never done that before, you know? And that's part of growing up, learning to strike out on your own, make new friendships, handle bad situations without blowing up the world."  
  
"Willow, you've grown up plenty."  
  
"No, I haven't! I mean, yeah, I've tried new things and everything, but they've always been in the safety of my own home in Sunnydale, or with people I knew I could trust, who I knew cared about me. Even when I went to England last time, I had Giles there with me. So I didn't really HAVE to handle it all by myself. I didn't have to be a big girl, I could still count on someone else."  
  
"And what's wrong with that? That's the same thing I've done," Xander stiffened. "I know I'm not all 'growed up' yet myself but–"  
  
"But nothing, mister!" Willow turned on him, her face a mix of annoyance and apology. "You've had a job! A real one! You nearly got married, but knew enough to back out when you weren't ready. You've worked beside people you had to learn to trust without Buffy, or me, or Giles to back you up. And you've taken care of Dawn for the last month on the road, without getting either of you killed. You've grown up plenty. I've never done that. I've never even HAD job. I was always just 'oo, look at me, I couldn't even go away to college, cause I'd have to leave my friends behind, I'll just live off of them and my parents until the whole town falls apart. Oh! And then I'll just tag along where they go, oh, no growing up for me!'"  
  
"I can see where Kennedy would get upset." Xander smiled. "Willow babble is tough to take when you didn't grow up with it. Willow, you're grown up. You're a wonderful woman, who's learned the hardest lessons about loss, love, and control. The coven wouldn't be telling you to do this if you weren't. But you're right. Maybe this is something you need to do."  
  
Xander laughed. "God, four years after high school, and we're finally doing the 'going our separate ways and growing apart' thing."  
  
"No, Xander. We're not going to grow apart. I mean, we'll still be doing the same job, just, you know, on different continents. And when I'm done, and you're done, we can all get back together again."  
  
"Sure we can Wills." He stood. "We've got to get moving, don't we. Where's our next assignment?"  
  
"Virginia." Willow stood as well, and wrapped him in a hug. "Goddess, I've missed you Xand."  
  
"I've missed you too. Call me when you get to England?"  
  
"Of course. And I'll send you creepy postcards, or well, emails, anyway."  
  
"From all your exotic places." Xander smirked. "Is it too late for me to go to Europe too? I've never even left the country."  
  
Willow smiled into his shoulder. "When this is all done, you and me are gonna go globe trotting."  
  
"Yeah." Xander let go of her and stepped back. "Have a good trip." He turned and walked back into the hotel, after one last kiss on her cheek. He blinked away tears in both eyes, wishing he could blame them on the prosthetic. He'd talked a lot about "when this was over" in the last couple of days, but he knew, somehow, that "this" would never be over. There would always be more slayers to find, more places to go that weren't near the most important people in his life. The scooby gang had gotten caught up in a fight that was bigger than any of them, one that would outlast their children and their children's children. They would come together and split apart many, many times. And he knew that their friendship would have to change for it. God, he thought. We really have grown up.  
  
end part three  
  
tbc in "The Sad Tale of Bunnyman"  
  
postscript/author's note: Willow will indeed continue the slayer hunt abroad, in Roads Less Traveled's sister story, "Avenues Abroad". Coming soon to a ff.net near you . . . . 


	19. Interlude

Addendum to the author's note: Sorry about the lack of update recently, but I've just moved, so yeah, that's been taking up the vast majority of my time. However, it also on some level inspired me, as you'll be able to tell from this little interlude.... mwahahahahahaha! I know well the terrors of an I-95 road trip! Er, yeah.  
  
Beware Central Florida. You really can get pulled over in Starke like this. Also, there really is a city in Florida that banned the devil. We all wanted to drive through wearing horns and playing Black Sabbath, but could never remember which town it was. Anyone know?  
  
"The Astronomer's Cat" is a road trip game, in which the players take turns trying to think of as many adjectives starting with a certain letter as possible, such as "the astronomer's cat is an atrocious cat". When someone can't think of another adjective, they move on to the next letter, from a to b to c, etc.   
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Interlude  
  
Waldo Road, Gainesville  
  
"Wooooohooooo!"  
  
Xander grinned. "And we're off!"  
  
Dawn rolled down the window, sticking her head out. "I love this jobbbbbb!"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Rt. 301, Starke, FL  
  
"Do you know what the speed limit is here?"  
  
Xander peering out at the police officer, shading his eyes from the blue flashes behind him. "35 miles per hour?"  
  
"That's right. And do you know how fast you were going?"  
  
"Um, 36 miles per hour?"  
  
"Right again. Licence and registration please."   
  
Xander frowned. "What?"  
  
The officer stared down at him. "Have you been drinking, sir?"  
  
"No!" The officer glared, and Xander flinched. "No, sir, I have not."  
  
"Hrmph." The officer glanced over at Dawn, who was sorting through the glove compartment for the registration. "You two devil worshipers?"  
  
"What?" Xander was becoming exceedingly frustrated. Central Florida, he decided, was a strange and scary place. Perhaps even more so than Sunnydale had been.  
  
"You know there's a town not far from here that's banned the devil. We here in Starke are gettin' ready to do the same. We don't take kindly to you young heathens speeding recklessly through our town."  
  
"With all due respect, sir," Xander's mouth moved before he could think about it. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."  
  
The officer stiffened. "Step out of the car please."  
  
"Crap."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
I-10, Jacksonville, FL  
  
Xander shifted painfully in his seat, cursing softly to himself as he kept a sharp eye on the mirrors, watching for more cops.   
  
He was certain that a full body cavity search had somehow violated his rights as an individual.  
  
"50 fucking dollars for one mile over the speed limit . . . ."  
  
"You could always take it to court," Dawn shrugged.  
  
"I never want to come here again."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Florida, near the Georgia border, on I-95  
  
"Val Jean, at last, we see each other plain!" Xander belted out the lyrics of the song in his somewhat tuneless baritone, removing one hand from the wheel to gesture grandly towards the windshield. "M. La Mayor, you'll wear a different chain!"  
  
"Before you say another word, Javier! Before you chain me up like a slave again! Listen to me! There is something I must dooooooo," Dawn's much more melodic voice chimed in, her unfettered hands clutching at her breast. "This woman leaves behind a suffering child! There is none but me who can intercede! In mercy's name! Three days are all I need. Then I'll return, I pledge my word, then I'll return–"  
  
"You must think me mad!" Xander thumped his hand on the steering wheel. "I've hunted you across the years! Men like you can never change, a maaaaaaan such as yoooooooooou,"  
  
Their voices mixed over those of the cd as Javier and Val Jean bickered musically. Xander's face was split in an almost painful grin, it had been so long since he'd gotten the chance to really enjoy a musical, since he'd been able to let go and just sing whether he was good at it or not. It was moments like these which had led him to summoning Sweet, in hopes of bringing about a bit of catharsis and pleasure to his friends.  
  
"I swear to you, I will be there!" The final note died away amidst their laughter, and the cd continued as Florida gave way to Georgia, and the two looked forward to a long and cheerful trip to Virginia.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
I-95 in southern Georgia  
  
"Well, Buffy's definitely Cosette. So that'd make, um, Angel Marius." Dawn scrunched her face up. "And Giles Val Jean. That doesn't quite work."  
  
"How about Faith as Val Jean? What with having broken out of prison and everything. Oooh, and Wesley can be Javier!" Xander riffled through the various characters of the musical. "Who would I be?"  
  
Dawn studied him. "Thenardier. Definitely. Total comic relief, 'beggar at the feast' and all that,"  
  
"Cool. Who would you be?"   
  
"Eponine." Dawn was firm. "Well, except for the whole in love with Marius thing."  
  
"You'd make a fantastic Eponine."  
  
"Flatterer."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Northern Georgia  
  
"The astronomer's cat is an apathetic cat."  
  
Xander frowned, racking his brain. "The astronomer's cat is an annoying cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is an anthropomorphic cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is an amber cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is an antidisestablishmentarian cat."  
  
"Um." Xander shrugged, and passed an 18-wheeler. "The astronomer's cat is an angry cat?"  
  
"Already said that one."  
  
"Fine then. B."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Northern Georgia  
  
"Let's stop here for dinner."  
  
"Waffle House?" Dawn frowned. "What's that?"  
  
"Ghetto IHOP?"  
  
"Whatever, sounds good."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
  
  
South Carolina, just over the border  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a gentle cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a gentile cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a gruesome cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a gregarious cat."  
  
"No fair, your vocabulary is bigger than mine!"  
  
Dawn stuck her tongue out at him and laughed.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Southern South Carolina  
  
"Pit stop!" Xander pulled the car over toward the exit.   
  
Dawn looked up from the dashboard, and grimaced. "No, Xander."  
  
"Come on!"  
  
"No more Waffle House!"  
  
"But, hash browns! Smothered, covered, othered hash browns!"  
  
"We've stopped at the last three Waffle Houses, Xander, not even Faith can handle that much grease!"  
  
"You're no fun any more."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Mid South Carolina  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a questionable cat."  
  
"Right then, R." Xander began thinking.  
  
"Xander, you didn't even try Q!"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Ten miles further on  
  
Dawn opened the cd case, only to find Xander's hand landing on top of hers.  
  
"No."  
  
"But–"  
  
"No, Dawn."  
  
"Come on, we listened to your cd last."  
  
"No Avril Levigne and that's final."  
  
"You're no fun any more."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Northern South Carolina  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a xenophobic cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a xylophonic cat."  
  
"Xylophonic?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Not a word."  
  
"Fine. Xanderific?"  
  
Dawn shook her head.  
  
Xander growled. "The cat's frickin' yellow then."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Northern end of South Carolina  
  
"Ooo! Can we–"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"But, hats! Around the world!"  
  
Xander glared at the cheerfully neon sombrero.  
  
"I just want to get there."  
  
"We've got two states left."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Southern North Carolina  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a zoological cat."  
  
"The astronomer's cat is a dead cat."  
  
"That's not a Z,"  
  
"And yet it's true. Dead cat. Game over."  
  
"Fine."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Fifteen miles later  
  
"Suddenly Seymour is standing beside you," Xander crooned softly, turning slightly to grasp Dawn's chin. "You don't need no make-up, don't have to pretend! Suddenly Seymour is here to provide you sweet understanding. Seymour's your friend!"  
  
Dawn smiled. "Let's play the 'Feed Me' song again."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Mid North Carolina  
  
"Um, Dawn?"  
  
Dawn yawned. "Yeah?"  
  
"What did that sign just say?"  
  
"Something about a beach?"  
  
"Oh."  
  
Dawn glanced over at Xander, who was developing impressive bags beneath his eyes. "What did you think it said?"  
  
Xander grinned sheepishly. "Gypsy Death."  
  
"Pull over, Xander."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Northern North Carolina  
  
"Xander, please stop playing with the cd player."  
  
Xander took his hand away from the search button. "I'm bored."  
  
"Read my book then."  
  
"'Light in August'? I'd rather die."  
  
Dawn grinned. "Robin sent a new one down with the gang. It's good, I've already finished it." Dawn pointed to the front pocket of her backpack, which sat on the floor of the passenger seat.  
  
"'The Alchemist'?" Xander shrugged. "I suppose if there's nothing better to do."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
40 miles later  
  
"Xander,"  
  
"Mm."  
  
"Xander."  
  
"Mmhm, that's nice."  
  
"Xander!"  
  
Xander shot his head up from the book. "What?"  
  
"I'm stopping for gas. Do you need to pee?"  
  
"Nah." Xander stuck his head back into the book. Dawn grinned, and opened her car door.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
North Carolina/Virginia border  
  
"Tree ents!" Dawn swerved the car, and it swung wildly between lanes for several moments, bringing a lot of honks from the poor people in the cars around them.  
  
Xander dropped the book, snapping his head up. "What?!"  
  
Dawn wrestled the car back into the lanes, taking deep breaths and pointing through the windshield. "Tree ents. Crossing the highway. Holy shit."  
  
Xander frowned. "Pull over, Dawn, time to switch again."  
  
"But, tree ents . . . ."  
  
"Pull over."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
I-95 through Richmond Virginia  
  
"I mean, is this it?"  
  
"Someone's got to look for the slayers, Xander."  
  
"I know that," Xander pulled around a stopped cop car, slowing the car ever so slightly to the speed limit. "But is it our, whatsit, personal legend?"  
  
"Xander," Dawn smirked at him. "It was just a book."   
  
"But books are wise things, Dawnie. Maybe we're really supposed to be traveling to the Egyptian pyramids."  
  
"Then we'll do it." Dawn shrugged. "Eventually. For now, though, we need to go find more slayers."  
  
Xander shrugged, his mind falling back to pondering Santiago and the desert caravan. A few minutes later, he turned to look at Dawn again.  
  
"Does he find it?"  
  
"Does who find what?"  
  
"Santiago. The treasure. Does he find it at the pyramids?"  
  
"Nope, he dies horribly at the end." Dawn grinned. "That's why we have to read it for classes, because it's depressing and it kills our ambitions to ever rise above the status we were born into as Americans."  
  
"Oh." Xander frowned. "That sucks, what the hell did you let me read that book for?"  
  
Dawn smirked. "Finish the book, and you'll see."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
A hotel in Northern Virginia  
  
"Dawn." Xander tapped the girl on the shoulder. "Dawnie, wake up."  
  
Dawn snorted and blinked her eyes. "Are we there yet?"  
  
"Not quite," Xander pointed to the hotel. "Figured we'd crash here tonight, then get the last few miles in in the morning."  
  
Dawn sleepily opened her door. "'Kay."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Hotel lobby  
  
"Here's your keys, Mr. Harris, and check out is at 10 am."  
  
"Xander!" Dawn hissed into his ear, gesturing wildly through the glass doors. "Xander, look!"  
  
Xander followed her gesture. A group of what looked like college students were loitering around outside the door, smoking, talking, and gesturing esoterically.  
  
Dawn was staring suspiciously at them. "I heard them talking on the way in, they're vampires!"  
  
Xander frowned, his hand moving toward his stake, until he saw one of the group hold their hand up to their chin, pinkie raised toward the sky. He grinned.  
  
"They're not vampires, Dawn."  
  
"But they–"  
  
"Oh, no, they're much worse."  
  
Dawn paled. "What are they?"  
  
"LARPers."  
  
end interlude  
  
tbc in "The Sad Tale of Bunnyman"  
  
post-script: the two musicals were Les Mis (of course), and Little Shop of Horrors, which, coincidentally, was the inspiration for my first ever Buffy fic, Little Hellmouth of Horrors, which as far as I know, no longer exists anywhere but in brief snippets in an old spiral notebook. Ah well, it was, like most first attempts, rather not great.  
  
Also, I mean no disrespect to LARPers. I happen to have played a few myself, in FL and soon, in VA as well. And yes, I do think that Xander would know who they were. Just another level of his geekdom, really.  
  
"The Alchemist" is by Paulo Coehlo, and I highly recommend it to everybody. No, I didn't spoil the end. Dawn is being all sarcastic like.  
  
And now, I will shut up. 


	20. The Sad Tale of Bunnyman part 1

addendum to the disclaimer: Yep, we're onto "the bunnyman" now. For info on the Bunnyman, check out www.weirdus.com. That's a MAJOR source for this story, so who knows, you might hit upon a myth I'm already planning on using.  
  
Addendum to the author's note: oh, hell, it's been awhile. I've been swamped with moving and looking for a job and just generally settling into being back in the DC area. Also, being so close to the location for this story, I felt sort of obligated to go see the Bunnyman Bridge in person. But since I was completely unable to figure out where that is, I'm going based off of a DIFFERENT haunted type railroad bridge in Northern Virginia. If you're really curious, I'll tell you a bit about that one later. Usually I'd try to at least finish one of the stories in this series before posting, but since it HAS been such a long time, I figured I'd post as I go on this one.   
  
Also of news, I've semi-figured out where the overall arc of this series is going. I've worked out a big-bad and everything. I'm pretty excited, but well, we've got awhile yet before I even really start bringing that little plot to bear, so hang on tight. It's going to be a bumpy ride.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 6: The Sad Tale of Bunnyman  
  
Part One  
  
Xander let out a rather embarrassingly high pitched squeak as he flew through the front door of the house he and Dawn had just entered about an hour before. The latest slayer followed behind him in a much more dignified and controlled manner, shouting obscenities. Dawn hovered somewhere behind her, also shouting, but her words were calm and reassuring, and Carmella the Vampire Slayer was having none of it.  
  
Xander tumbled down the front steps of the wooden porch and finally sprawled out over the damp, dead grass, struggling to get his breath back, and halt the spinning of his brain in his head. He levered himself to his knees and found himself staring at the thick, baggy cloth of a cashmere sweater that was at least three sizes too large for the wiry frame of the slayer it covered. The slayer who, at that moment, was cursing fluently in Spanish and grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket to drag him up level to her dark, bitterly angry eyes.  
  
"This is your fault!" She shook him, which, combined with her earlier blow to his solar plexus, efficiently stopped him from denying her accusation. "You ruined my life!"  
  
"Well, technically, his childhood best friend did," Dawn screeched to a halt as Carmella spun to face her, dagging Xander into a head lock as she moved. "Okay, so not what you want to hear, but it's NOT Xander's fault."  
  
"Thank, Dawn." Xander tried to pry Carmella's arm from his neck, but she was having none of it.  
  
When they first arrived at the house and discovered Carmella was home alone while her parents went shopping, Xander and Dawn had thought it was a good sign, and set about explaining to the confused young woman about her slayer-hood.  
  
Obviously she wasn't taking the news well.  
  
"Look," Dawn lifted both hands out in front of her, palms down. "It's going to be okay. We can help you, teach you to use your strength, teach you to fight–"  
  
Xander gurgled as Carmella's arm tightened.  
  
"–Which you don't need, but we'll help you understand who you are now–"  
  
"Who I am?" Carmella shoved Xander to one side, where he decided to lay low and let Dawn continue to handle it. "Where were you nine months ago when my metabolism tripled? Where were you when my mom watched me eat four servings and still drop a pound a day? Or how about my 'intervention' when my dad handed me pamphlets on binging and purging?" She stalked forward, causing an appalled Dawn to back up. "Or when they sent me to the clinic to be 'cured' of an eating disorder that I. Don't. Have?"  
  
"Oh, god," Xander took in the way Carmella's jeans hung off her bony hips, and her sweater draped over her frame. "We didn't think of that."  
  
Carmella turned toward him again, and he flinched back.   
  
"No, I guess you didn't." She threw the Helsing Institute pamphlet to the ground at Dawn's feet. "Please leave."  
  
"Carmella–" Dawn stepped forward, but Xander grabbed her arm.  
  
"Come on, Dawn."  
  
"But–"  
  
Xander tugged her to the car, then turned back to the still-seething slayer. "I'm sorry."  
  
Carmella flicked him off.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"We shouldn't have left." Dawn stood, her arms crossed, staring over the car at her companion. "She needs to know what she'll be up against."  
  
Xander shrugged, then rubbed his sore shoulder. "She wouldn't have listened." He shoved the keys into his pocket and started toward the hotel. "We'll have to wait for her to calm down. But, hey, at least we know she's accepted that she's the slayer."  
  
"Yeah, but I don't think she realizes what that means."  
  
"And she's not going to until she calms down." Xander held the door open for Dawn. "She's got our number. We'll stay in town for awhile, talk to her later, and eventually she'll realize that her powers mean more than bulemia. Until then, I vote we relax."  
  
Dawn sniffed as she picked up a copy of the local paper from the stand in the hotel lobby. "You just want a chance to finish that book."  
  
"And as the one who got me to READ said book, you should not be complaining."  
  
Dawn stuck her tongue out at him, and they continued to their room in silence. Sure enough, as soon as they got there, Xander grabbed _The Alchemist_ and flopped down onto the bed. Dawn smirked and opened the paper.  
  
Neither of them got very far when Dawn gave a small shout and stood. Xander peered up from the edge of the book, torn between wanting to finish and needing to know what had prompted Dawn's reaction. He found out soon enough when she plopped the paper down on top of the novel.  
  
"BUNNYMAN STRIKES AGAIN" the headline read, which made Xander snort slightly in amusement until he kept reading.  
  
"Three bodies were found this morning hanging from a local railroad bridge, says police. The deceased, all teenagers whose identities have yet to be released, were strung up by crude leather ropes around their necks, their bodies cut open."  
  
Xander skimmed through descriptions of the investigation and the state of the corpses, looking for what had caused Dawn to believe that they, personally, should be concerned. He had to flip to the continuation of the article toward the back of the paper to find it.  
  
"The bridge, known to locals as the 'Bunnyman Bridge', has been home to these sorts of brutal displays twice before. Police believe the most recent murders to be work of a copy-cat killer, as the original perpetrator died three weeks ago in the state facility to which he'd been committed. Dubbed the 'Bunnyman' for his habit of killing rabbits for food in the woods, he has become somewhat of a local legend. Anyone with any information concerning the bridge or the killer should contact police at . . . ."  
  
An image of the bridge accompanied the article, but to Xander it looked rather ordinary. He closed the paper.  
  
"Well?" Dawn stared down at him, expectantly."  
  
"There's no reason to think that this is anything supernatural, Dawn."  
  
"Of COURSE there is!"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like the fact that it happened while we're here, looking for a slayer."  
  
Xander raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Okay, fine, so THAT doesn't mean anything." Dawn sat down on her bed. "I just get a feeling, that's all."  
  
"A feeling."  
  
"Yes. And Buffy used to get feelings all the time and I think that maybe I do too. Like, sister-of-the-Slayer intuition."  
  
Xander couldn't help but smile. "Okay, watcher-girl, look into it. Maybe you're right. Just, you know, do your homework while you're at it."  
  
"I don't have any homework."  
  
"Wood didn't give you any homework?"  
  
Dawn glanced over at her laptop, which lay, still packed, on the table by the bathroom. "No,"  
  
Xander grinned. "Emma was right, you're a terrible liar. Now get to work. I'm gonna want to discuss this book when I'm done."  
  
"This is SO unfair."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander stepped carefully through the close-set trees and low lying bushes, searching for the path. The sun streamed through the bare branches, casting an over-bright , almost grainy light on the woods around him. He could hear the animals darting in and out of the foliage to either side of him, and the sound of water splashing over rocks up ahead. He pushed aside a couple of branches and stepped forward. A stick cracked under his boots and the sound and light fell away, leaving him in darkness.  
  
"Don't go over there."  
  
Xander turned to see Anya hovering at his side. She was staring, terrified, into the darkness. He followed her gaze. He was standing on the bank of a broad, shallow creek, next to the metal support of a towering bridge. The water poured silently over the rocks.  
  
"Anya, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Don't go over there, Xander. I'm scared."  
  
"There's nothing to be scared of, Honey."  
  
Her expression faded to anger, then sorrow.  
  
"You won't listen to just me."  
  
"Listen about what?"  
  
"Or her. It has to be both of us."  
  
Anya, I don't understand."  
  
"It's the bunnies, Xander." Anya pointed upward toward the bridge. Xander turned and saw a lone, slim figure hanging by the neck, its feet at Xander's eye level. He stepped forward, past Anya, who reached for his arm, but vanished as her hand passed through him. He stepped up to the hanged figure, who swayed slowly in a circle until they faced each other. The figure's tongue was swollen and hanging blackly from its mouth. Its bulging eyes lay shut and bruised as Xander reached up a hand to stop its swinging.  
  
As soon as Xander's hand touched one of the feet, the figure's eyes flew open, glaring bright and black into his.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander sat up gasping in his bed, clutching at the sheets and blankets. He searched the dark hotel room wildly before his eyes caught Dawn's, where she, too, sat, wide-eyed, her chest heaving for breath.  
  
"Did–did you–?"  
  
Dawn nodded slowly. "Anya?"  
  
Xander squinched his eyes shut. "Yeah."  
  
They stayed that way for a moment longer until their hearts stopped pounding and their breathing evened.  
  
"So," Xander pushed the covers off slowly, "the Bunnyman, huh?"  
  
end part one 


	21. The Sad Tale of Bunnyman part 2

Addendum to the author's note: that's right, Dawn is actually checking www.weirdus.com for info on our Bunnyman. So, if you wanna see the creepiest darn bunny-suit EVER, check it out.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 6: The Sad Tale of Bunnyman  
  
Part Two  
  
"I told you so."  
  
"Yes, you did."  
  
"I had a feeling."  
  
"I know, Dawn." Xander sighed and stretched, turning off the TV as it became clear that he wouldn't be able to find any news at this time of night. "You're a wise girl, smarter than I'll ever be, and I'll never doubt you again."  
  
"Damn right." Dawn smirked, then began tapping her fingers on her laptop. "Come on . . . . Damned dial-up."  
  
"Found anything?"  
  
"Maybe." Dawn frowned. "Woah."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Check out the picture."  
  
Dawn sat cross-legged on her bed, the laptop perched on her knees. Xander crossed to sit next to her, and she adjusted the screen so that he could see.  
  
The image was of a person in a Bugs Bunny-ish costume, holding an inflatable carrot and an axe. It was the eyes of the mask, large, red and snake-like, that caught his attention. "Gyah." Xander sat back with a sad smile. "I hope Anya never saw that picture."  
  
Dawn looked up at him, returning his smile. "Do you think that was really her? In the dream, I mean?"  
  
Xander sighed. "I don't know. I guess, since we both saw her. I was kinda hoping though–" He stood, running his hands through his hair. "I was hoping she'd be somewhere that she wouldn't have to care, you know? Like . . . like Buffy was."  
  
Dawn grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Maybe she doesn't have to." Xander shot her a look and she shrugged. "But maybe she cares anyway."  
  
Xander smiled again, and squeezed back. After a moment he decided they'd done enough moping, and gestured back to the demonic bunny on the website. "So, what we got?"  
  
Dawn readjusted the laptop screen, her business-like watcher demeanor returning. "Not much." She pointed to a headline. "This is about an axe murderer in a bunny-costume . . ." She scrolled through, the image disappearing at the top of the screen. "'Nother bunny costume murderer, a kid this time . . . . Ah. No, that's pretty much what the article said." Dawn closed the window. "Escaped psycho, eating rabbits, killing teenagers."  
  
"Did you check any newspaper articles?"  
  
"Just about to, but I'm thinking ghost."  
  
"Mm." Xander leaned back. "Dunno. Ghosts are pretty much non-corporeal, like the First. Unless they're possessing someone."  
  
"You talking from experience?"  
  
"Not personal, I only got possessed by a hyena, and they're not exactly native to Northern Virginia."  
  
"Or Southern California,"  
  
"If it was hyenas, those kids would have been eaten, not gutted and hanged. Buffy and Angel got ghost-possessed once, though. Junior year. It's a possibility."  
  
"I'll keep checking, then."  
  
"Right." Xander glanced over to his bed. "And I'll . . ."  
  
"Relax. We've only got one laptop, and we can't go asking around for another couple hours, at least until sunrise." Dawn smiled. "Read, or take a nap. One of us is gonna have to be rested." Her grin took on smirk-tones. "'Sides, you read slow enough anyway, and you promised me a discussion when you're done."  
  
Xander stuck his tongue out at her back.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander snagged a donut from the continental breakfast and shoved it into his mouth to grab two cups of coffee. He sat down across from Dawn, who was tapping her notes from the night's research, and handed her one of the styrofoam cups. She immediately gulped down half of it, black.  
  
"Easy there, Tiger." Xander grimaced. He'd gotten a good five hours in, but Dawn's expression clearly said she'd been up all night. "Maybe you should take a nap."  
  
"Nah, I'm good." Dawn hid a yawn with her cup. "I'm young and filled with energy. All nighters are par for the course." She frowned. "What the hell does that mean, 'par for the course'?"  
  
Xander bit his donut, then shoved the bite into his cheek so he could talk. "It's a golf thing."  
  
Dawn stared at him. He resumed chewing.  
  
"Right." Dawn looked back down at her notes. "Thanks."  
  
Xander smiled, his mouth still full of donut-y goodness. "No problem. Whatcha got?"  
  
"Well, the newspaper articles didn't reveal much, just that it's happened before. Different number of victims, sometimes, and no pattern that I can see. But I looked up the so-called 'Bunnyman's records."  
  
"And how did you do that?"  
  
Dawn grinned, looking more than a little evil. "Willow taught me a LOT about computers."  
  
"You're going to get us arrested, you know that?"  
  
"Please, these days even the most rudimentary file-sharers know about ISP blocking."  
  
Xander blinked. "Right, then, continue."  
  
"Well, according to his file at the state mental hospital, he didn't actually have any record of mental illness before the incident at the bridge." Dawn pointed to a spot on her notes, though she knew Xander couldn't read them from his angle. "A touch of insomnia, but really, who hasn't suffered from that?"  
  
"So the whole escaped psycho in the woods story is . . . ?"  
  
"Complete bunk. Probably added later for spook value. Though god knows that it's even creepier to think that he WENT insane there, instead of starting out that way." Dawn look up at him. "I'm still thinking along the lines of 'ghost'. Though the ghost of what, I'm not sure. The Bunnyman wasn't the first to string people up, he just got away with it the longest. The earliest one I could find was back in the eighties, but I might find some more if I check hard copy records. They didn't put THAT much online."  
  
Xander nodded. "If we're right on the 'ghost' theory, then there probably is some sort of pattern to be found. Though the different numbers of victims is weird. If I remember correctly, the ghost at Sunnydale was making people repeat EXACTLY what had happened to him. Or them. There might have been two ghosts. But it was exact. Down to the letter, the words they spoke, the method and number of deaths."  
  
"But if it isn't a ghost, what is it?"  
  
"No idea." Xander finished off his donut and grabbed for his cooling coffee. "Maybe it has something to do with the rabbits."  
  
"Right." Dawn rolled her eyes. "Rabbits are possessing people and making them kill each other." She blinked. "Oh god, do you think that's what's happening?"  
  
Xander shrugged. "It's a . . . rather remote . . . possibility. But what else would have gotten Anya freaked enough to send us a message about it? She was very much spooked by bunnies."  
  
Dawn giggled. "Oh yeah. Remember when the musical thing was going on? You guys said that she had a whole solo on why bunnies are evil."  
  
Xander grinned. "Yep. She was humming it for weeks afterward. If rabbits are involved than this case would be right up her alley."  
  
Dawn closed her notebook. "Okay, so we've got either a ghost, or psychotic bunnies. What now? Should we call Carmella, get her in on the case?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "I don't think that's a great idea. Let's figure out what this is, and if we need the extra ooomph, then we disturb her. It's gonna take a bit before she'll be willing to speak to us again." He slumped a little further in his seat. "I can't imagine what it was like for her, her body going nuts on her like that? And having to go to a clinic,"  
  
"She's okay, now." Dawn smiled softly. "We had to do the spell, or we never would have made it out of Sunnydale, any of us. Besides, think of how much safer the world is going to be, with that many slayers running around. Carmella will come around."  
  
Xander forced himself to cheer up. "Of course she will. As for our bunny problem, what say we go check out the scene of the crime, see if you catch any more woogy feelings that might give us a hint about what's going on?"  
  
"Sounds like a plan."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
". . . or maybe not . . . ." Dawn stared through the trees at the yards of yellow tape surrounding the bridge and the creek. "How are we going to avoid all the police?"  
  
"This IS a crime scene," Xander frowned. "Maybe we should start a little further back in the trees."  
  
"I guess." Dawn shrugged. "It's not like we're going to find anything the police don't, unless it's supernatural. But I really want to get a closer look at that bridge."  
  
"We'll have to wait a bit, for that, I think."  
  
Dawn yawned, then glanced around. "Right, then." She set off toward the left, crunching through the leaves. After a moment she realized her footsteps were the only ones she heard. She turned to see Xander still standing where he'd been, watching her. "Xander?"  
  
"I really think you should get some sleep, Dawn."  
  
"I'm fine." Dawn crossed her arms. "I wanna figure this out."  
  
"I do, too, but we're not going to get very far if you're completely exhausted."  
  
Dawn snorted. "Fine, you stand around there, looking dumb, and I'll take my 'completely exhausted' butt off into the trees and find something interesting."  
  
"Dawn–"  
  
"I'm not a kid, Xander. I KNOW what I'm capable of."  
  
"Of course you do, Dawn, but that's not the . . . ." Xander let his voice trail off as Dawn spun around again and continued marching off. "Point." He growled lightly to himself, then moved to follow. "I'm beginning to understand why Giles was always so huffy in highschool. Kids these days show NO respect."  
  
Dawn heard Xander moving to follow her and stepped up the pace. There was no way she was going to let him boss her around. She'd had enough of that from her "holier-than-thou" older sister, thank you very much, and now that they were on the road together, she would have thought that he'd have realized that she could take care of herself. If he was going to be like that then she'd just have to prove to him how mature she really was. Even if it meant stalking off in a rather immature huff.  
  
She was moving easily through the close set trees and bushes, obviously a great deal faster than Xander was, as she heard his footsteps fading into the distance. It was, she decided, rather easy to get through the foliage once you knew how to identify the breaks in the branches. You just had to know what to look for. It was with a smug smile that she realized how quickly she was picking up on that. She'd spent her entire life in cities and small towns, not exactly wilderness central, but she obviously knew how to get around in the woods. Except she was making way too much noise.  
  
She slowed down a bit, to see if she could figure out how to walk without crunching.  
  
After a few experiments, she realized that the trouble was she couldn't feel what she was stepping on through her shoes. If she could do that, she'd be able to avoid the sticks and dried leaves that cracked and crumpled beneath her weight, and sent all the animals scattering. She wanted to get closer to the animals, that was why they were out here, wasn't it? She'd just have to go barefoot. She bent down to take off her shoes.  
  
Xander's footsteps were moving in completely the wrong direction, down the hill toward the creek, not across it like she was. Once her shoes were off she tied the laces to each other and slung them over her shoulder. It wouldn't do to leave them out in the woods like this, that was tantamount to polluting, wasn't it? As a Southern Californian, she knew how to take care of the environment. She set off again, pleased with how much less noise her bare feet were making on the ground. She rolled the ball of her foot just before taking each step, moving it further along if she felt anything that would make a sound. She quickly settled into the rhythm of it, and was moving even faster than she had before.  
  
Dawn smiled broadly. She was pretty sure she could even RUN without making a sound.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander stopped and cursed when he realized that he couldn't hear Dawn's footsteps any more. There was no sign of her in any direction. Buffy was going to kill him when she found out he'd lost her sister.  
  
Maybe he had been a little too patronizing, but he was worried. He remembered only too well what it was like to try and function for very long without any sleep. The dream had come very quickly after they'd both gone to bed, which meant that odds were, Dawn had only a half an hour under her belt, and this after they'd driven practically all night to get here from Gainesville, and the confrontation with Carmella . . . . He himself was not operating on full throttle, he could only imagine what toll the lack of sleep was taking on Dawn.  
  
On the other hand, she was right, she did know her body better than he did. Maybe she really was okay for a little walk in the woods. A walk in the same woods where at least three people had gone psycho and decided it was a good idea to gut drunken teenagers.  
  
Crap, he had to find her.  
  
He took stock of his position, and finally decided his best bet was to head down to the creek. That way he could get a pretty good view of the bridge, hopefully without the police spotting him, and hopefully catch sight of Dawn while he was at it. He set off again through the close-set trees and low lying bushes, the sunlight filtering through the bare branches above him, and wondered briefly why he was getting such a strong sense of Deja Vu.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
She smirked to herself as she watched him look around. He was scrunching up his face, and yelling something at the trees as he walked toward the water. She kept pace with him easily, watching him through the leaves of the bushes and ferns. She'd just eaten, and now was simply enjoying the thrill of stalking him through the woods. He stepped out onto the bank of the creek, still yelling.  
  
Fool. Didn't he know you had to silent to find anything in the woods?  
  
She was startled by a strange pinging noise that definitely didn't belong in there. The man pulled something out of his pocket, a strange, brightly colored object, and began talking to it. She frowned. So far he hadn't done anything to hurt the woods, but she suspected it wouldn't be long before he did. She had to stop him.  
  
She reached into her pocket and her bloody fingers closed on something cool and mineral. She pulled it out, and after a bit of sniffing and investigation unfolded a blade. It was small, and a bit dull, but it would have to do. She crept closer, but froze when he turned back toward the woods, looking toward her position. He called out again and she flinched.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander started a little ins surprise when his cell-phone rang. A glace at the read-out proved that it was not, as he hoped, Dawn calling him to let him know where she was, but a local number. The only person who could be calling that was Carmella.  
  
"Xander Harris," He glanced around, still hoping to catch sight of Dawn.  
  
"Look, I'm still mad at you guys,"  
  
"Understandable."  
  
"But, um, I think the slayer thing? I had a dream. A really weird one."  
  
Xander frowned. "What about?"  
  
"The Bunnyman Bridge. There was some woman there, she told me I had to call you. I thought it was just a weirdo dream, but then I saw the paper this morning, about the murders, and the kid who killed himself?"  
  
"Yeah." Xander blinked. "What kid who killed himself?"  
  
"They found him this morning. They're pretty sure he was the one who did it. The woman in the dream, she said I had to help you guys. That you were going to look into it."  
  
"Well, if it's anything supernatural, that's kind of our job." Xander sighed. "The woman, what did she look like?"  
  
"I dunno, cute, I guess, blonde. Curly hair. She had a really weird way of talking, very formal. And kind of literal."  
  
Jesus, did Anya think he could do anything right? "Well, Anya was never the most subtle."  
  
"Anya? Is that her name? Look, anyway, I really don't want to get into this stuff, I just want to go back to being me, you know? But . . . do you guys need help?"  
  
"Yeah, I–" Xander stopped. He wasn't sure what he'd heard, or if he'd heard anything, but he was positive that there was something behind him, at the edge of the woods.  
  
"You there?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah, look, I'm kind of in a bind right now, and . . . ."  
  
Xander's eyes widened as he caught sight of a flash of purple in the bushes. The same purple color as Dawn's shirt, only grittier, and slightly bloody. "Dawn?!"  
  
There was a flash of purple again, and of long, brown hair, and something slammed into him, sending him tumbling backward into the creek. Something cold and metal bit into his skin at his clavicle, just above the collar of his shirt. The cellphone went flying, and by the splash he suspected that it wouldn't be working again.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
She tackled the man into the water, and spotted the colored thing splash down a few feet further on. She growled. He was trying to hurt the woods. She pressed down harder on the blade, smiling as it drew a small spot of crimson from his chest.  
  
He struggled against her, his eyes wide and shocked, and as his hand pressed against her face, trying to push her away, she bit it. He shouted something, then his other hand was moving, and it smashed against her temple before she could stop it. She toppled over sideways into the water as the world turned black.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Xander shoved himself to his knees and yanked Dawn's head up before she could drown in the creek. Her eyes were closed and he could see the red mark his fist had caused. It was definitely going to bruise.  
  
What worried him more were the bits of blood and fur that covered her fingers, and the wild animal look that had been in her eyes when she'd attacked him. He knew that look very well, he'd seen it in the eyes of four of his classmates and, he suspected, he'd warn that look himself. Dawn was possessed, and it wasn't by any human ghost. He lifted her up, wincing only slightly as it pulled on the small but deep cut at the base of his neck. He was pretty sure they had some ropes and chains in the car, but it would be tough to get back into the hotel without someone suspecting him of doing something very, very wrong to the girl.   
  
He was going to have to tie her up in the car, and hope that he figured out how to reverse whatever the possession was before someone found them. Or, he realized, as he dug into Dawn's pocket for her cell phone, hoping it hadn't gotten too wet, he could call Carmella. She was still standoffish, but if anyone knew of someplace he could take Dawn, she would be it.  
  
Buffy was most definitely going to kill him.  
  
End part two 


	22. the Sad Tale of Bunnyman part 3

Addendum to the Author's note: Great googley moogley, this story took me frickin' forever. I'm not entirely sure why, just that while I "knew" where the story was going, I didn't "know", you know? I thought it would do one thing, then, suddenly, that just wasn't right. Oh, it's still doing that (kinda), but it's doing something else too. But enough babble from the Author.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 6: The Sad Tale of Bunnyman  
  
Part Three  
  
"Oh yeah, I just happen to know this perfect little abandoned mansion outside of town where you can chain up your psychotic, possessed girlfriend. And, hey, maybe then we can head to Starbucks. I hear the special today is RABBIT MOCHA."  
  
Xander winced at the sarcasm coming over the cellphone. "Carmella, that's not helping. And she's neither psychotic nor my girlfriend."  
  
"So, what, you think I'm going to offer my basement? First you people ambush me and tell me you're the reason I have to eat lunch in my math class, and my parents are only JUST willing to leave me alone for a couple of hours, and then you want me to find you lodging for the girl that just tried to KILL you? You're insane!"  
  
"You said you wanted to help–"  
  
"Because some creepy dead fried of yours TOLD me to, and let me tell you, I never got dreams of ghosts, REAL ghosts, until YOU TWO darkened my doorstep."  
  
XAnder leaned back in the driver's seat, his eyes fixed on Dawn who lay unconscious in the backseat. "I never told you Anya was dead."  
  
"Maybe I know because I'm a 'slayer'." Carmella's contempt for the term came through loud and clear. "You know, I've been thinking. What would Jesus do, if He were me? He'd realize you two were sent by the fucking Devil. Maybe He'd try to save you, but I'm not the Messiah."  
  
"No, you're the slayer." Xander started as Dawn groaned and twitched in the back seat. "Look, she's waking up."  
  
"Then I'll leave you to it." Carmella's tone held a chilling note of finality. "Never contact me again."  
  
"Carmella, wait–" Xander cursed softly as he was greeted by a click over the phone. Dawn shifted as he turned it off.  
  
"You hit me." Her eyes caught his in the rearview mirror.  
  
"You cut me."  
  
She grimaced. "Yeah. Glad we have the ropes."  
  
Xander twisted around in the seat and stared into his friend's eyes for a long moment. "You're okay."  
  
"I've got a headache. And, ugh," her upper lip curled, "rabbit fur stuck in my teeth. But the mega environmentalist vibe is gone." She wriggled into a seated position. "Where are we?"  
  
"On back roads, six miles or so from the bridge. I wanted to make sure the cops wouldn't find us."  
  
Dawn nodded, staring down at the ropes. Xander reached out to untie her. "Is that what it felt like? When you were, you know, Hyena-Xander?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "I didn't feel, really. I just . . . wanted, so I acted. I don't' think it was quite the same. You were pretty non-verbal, and the hyenas were never so quiet."  
  
Dawn shivered. "I couldn't even understand what you were saying. I recognized you . . . sort of . . . but it was like I didn't care. I just knew you brought something . . . alien into my woods."  
  
Xander grinned. "Great. You were possessed by the vengeful spirit of Earth First." He turned on the engine. "Where to, dirty hippie?"  
  
Dawn grimaced. "The hotel. I really want a shower." She caught his eye in the rear-view mirror again. "And a nap."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
When Dawn woke up it was fully dark outside. Xander was leaning back on his bed, knees bent, tapping the closed copy of _The Alchemist_ on against his leg. Her cellphone lay, flip-top opened, on the night stand. Dawn watched him for a moment, wondering what he was thinking about as he stared blankly at the wall.  
  
She sat up, drawing his attention. A smile stretched his lips, but the muscles around his eyes were tight.   
  
"How'd you sleep?"  
  
Dawn shrugged. "Surprisingly well." She gestured to the phone. "You called Carmella?"  
  
"No." Xander frowned, his eyebrows drawing together, and Dawn wondered what the slayer had done to get him so upset. Xander valued his ability to connect to people very highly, but Carmella seemed rather anti-connection.  
  
"Maybe we should tell her–"  
  
"She knows."  
  
Dawn waited to see if he would elaborate, but his lips pressed tightly together and she knew he was a long way from "share mode".  
  
"What about the gang?"  
  
Xander relaxed visibly, but continued drumming a rhythm with the book. "They were mostly out, Slayer field trip, recruiting teachers. I talked to Andrew, and Willow called about ten minutes ago. She said she'd look into it."  
  
Dawn frowned. "So that's it? We just sit and wait? Let whatever it is do it again?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "We're not going back out there, Dawn. Willow and I tossed out a couple theories, and she's going to see what she can do." He grimaced. "I think she wanted a distraction from packing for Europe."  
  
"I don't like just sitting around."  
  
"I don't like my friends getting possessed."  
  
"Xander–"  
  
"No, Dawn–"  
  
A knock on the bathroom door cut off the impending argument. Xander scrambled up, but Dawn was closer. She opened the door slowly, giving Xander plenty of time to grab a weapon in case they needed it.  
  
Willow, disheveled and damp around the ankles, wearing only one shoe, stood sheepishly on the other side.  
  
"Hey guys."  
  
Xander grinned, the first full smile Dawn had seen all day. "Willow. Why are you wet and in the bathroom?"  
  
She blushed. "My shoe's stuck in your toilet. I was, um, aiming for the hallway."  
  
Dawn wrapped the witch in a hug. "I'm glad you're here. Now, tell Mopey over there that we're going to kick this thing's ass."  
  
Willow smiled. "Not quite."  
  
Xander's face fell. "You didn't find a way to stop it?"  
  
"Of course I did. We're going to talk to it."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"I talked to the coven, they agreed that it sounded like your theory was right."  
  
Willow sat cross-legged on Dawn's bed, across from the two travelers. Xander shrugged, affecting a modest look. "Well, it made sense."  
  
"What theory?"  
  
"How the spirit chooses its host." Willow leaned forward. "It's not very powerful, considering how it lost its grip on Dawn when she was knocked out and taken out of the woods. So it probably can't take control of a strong will and mind."  
  
"Hey, I'm plenty strong-willed!"  
  
"Of course you are." Xander wrapped an arm over her shoulder. "We know THAT all too well. You were also sleep deprived and heavily caffeinated."  
  
Dawn blinked, comprehension stealing over her. "And the Bunnyman was an insomniac . . . ." She pounded her fist onto her leg. "That explains why the attacks are so sporadic! How often does someone THAT tired go INTO the woods?"  
  
"Precisely." Willow nodded, and Xander practically preened.  
  
"But wait." Dawn was running what they knew through her head, looking for holes. "That thing wasn't exactly big on the oral communication. How the hell are we going to talk to it?"  
  
*Like this.* Willow smiled, her voice echoing in Dawn's head. "Of course, that only works if it has a mind, a HUMAN mind, to listen through."  
  
"So someone's gotta get possessed." Xander shook his head. "Not liking this plan, Willow."  
  
"If we go in on our terms, I can keep the possessee from attacking." Willow pouted. "It's the easiest way. And I'm not going to be doing ANY magic when I go to Europe. I know I can do this."  
  
Xander sighed. "I believe you, Wills, I just don't like this." He straightened. "But I hereby volunteer for getting possessed duty."  
  
Willow nodded, but Dawn whirled on him. "No way."  
  
"Dawn,"  
  
"No! If anyone is getting possessed, it's me."  
  
"What?" Xander stared at her, but Dawn refused to back down. "Dawn!"  
  
"It makes sense. And it's safer."  
  
Willow's brow furrowed. "Not seeing that one, Dawn."  
  
Dawn stood, crossing her arms. "I'm seventeen years old, I'm petite, and I'm not a witch. You guys can both kick my ass. I'm the one who gets possessed."  
  
end part three. 


	23. the Sad Tale of Bunnyman part 4

Addendum to the disclaimer: The anime that Jane and Mike send Dawn is Cowboy Bebop. There's no frickin' way she could have watched the whole thing in the time that Xander and Willow are asleep, but I'm taking some liberties there. If you haven't seen it, then get off your but and at least rent the movie. It's worth it.   
  
Also, Xander's little episode here comes courtesy of Josh on the West Wing. You'll probably figure out what I mean. If not, then watch more West Wing. If nothing else, it's a high quality show.  
  
The comment about the aardvark is something my brother's roommate actually said once in his sleep. As for Aardvark 66 . . . . Well, I can't reveal ALL my secrets, can I?  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 6: The Sad Tale of Bunnyman  
  
Part Four  
  
When Dawn returned form the soda machine that night, loaded down with caffeinated beverages, Willow was sitting on her bed, idly surfing the web. Xander lay sprawled out half under the covers of his, on his back, his mouth hanging open, still fully dressed.  
  
He was snoring like a bear.  
  
"Oh, thank god," Dawn perched next to Willow, staring at her sleeping friend. "I was afraid he'd be up all night worrying."  
  
"Me too." Willow closed her browser window. "So I made sure he wouldn't."  
  
"You sleep-spelled him?"  
  
"Not quite." Willow held out a hand, which contained a small pill box. "Over the counter sleep aids. We keep 'em stocked now at the Institute. You wouldn't believe how many slayers are chronic insomniacs."  
  
Dawn grinned. "Yeah I would. I had to sleep in the same room with the potentials, remember?"  
  
"Yeah." Willow stood and stretched. "Now that you're back, it's my turn to pop pills." She paused at the door to the bathroom. "You sure you can stay up?"  
  
"Yeah, I'll find something to do. Maybe even catch up on my lessons."  
  
"Well, as loathe as I am to support academic procrastination, this might be more fun." Willow reached into her backpack, which lay by the bathroom door, and pulled out a thick brown package. "It came in the mail for you, so I figured I'd deliver it in person. Catch."  
  
Dawn caught the package easily, then turned it over to check the address. It was from Angie, down at Eckerd.  
  
"Excellent, thanks!"  
  
Willow smiled and stepped into the bathroom as Dawn ripped into the padded envelope.  
  
It obviously contained more that just one CD, which surprised Dawn, since she'd only been promised OAR. The first thing she pulled out was a postcard, an old styled illustration of a man holding a roach clip, with the caption "Marijuana! It's a special kind of stupid!"  
  
On the back of the postcard was Angie's scrawling, barely legible script.  
  
"Gobshite survival kit. Featuring Of A Revolution, Bob Marley, Ani Difranco, and Jimmy Buffet. Come visit us, we'll head to Orlando and hit up Margaritaville!"  
  
Dawn pulled out the four burned CDs and smiled at the little monsters Angie had drawn on each cover. Bob Marley's had dreads. Buffet's looked like an evil parrot.  
  
There was still a small stack of CDs inside, and another note.  
  
"While we're on the 'off-site backup copy' trend, Mike and Jane swear by this anime series. I haven't watched it yet, so I hope it doesn't require pot to enjoy it. M&J say 'hi', Emma says to keep up the good work, and I say to lay that stripper move on Xander, from me. Enjoy!"  
  
Dawn took a look at the other CDs, which seemed to contain an entire anime series, including a movie. Each one stated in Jane's neat hand: "See you, Space Cowboy". She popped the first one into her laptop and gave Willow a thumbs up as she exited the bathroom.  
  
Willow smiled and nodded sleepily back. "Just don't tell anyone, okay? You'll ruin my rep as a brain."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
By the time Dawn finished watching the movie, the sunlight streaming in the window had her seeing gold butterflies of her own.  
  
She glanced at het clock and wondered if she should wake her friends, or let them wake up on their own. Xander had finally stopped snoring by sunrise, and the room was filled with a peaceful silence and the faint smattering of birdsong.   
  
Willow murmured something in her sleep, and Dawn let her eyes wander over to the other bed.  
  
Xander lay almost exactly the same way he had the night before, on his back, his feet kicked out over the covers, one arm bent up over his head. The other was hidden under the pillows and under Willow, who was curled up over his side. His head was tilted into her hair, her arm was draped across his neck.   
  
Anyone else would have assumed the two were lovers.  
  
Dawn smiled, and decided not to wake them just yet. She couldn't help but envy how close and comfortable they were with each other; what with the way Dawn's life was constantly being thrown off balance, she didn't really have a friend like that. She and Janice had exchanged emails on occasion after Janice's family left Sunnydale, but Dawn had stopped writing when she realized there was simply no way to explain this trip to the girl. Someday, she hoped she'd find a close friend her age whom she'd never have to lie to.  
  
Bonus points if he happened to be extremely hot.  
  
Dawn promised herself that, when they managed to subdue the Bunnyman spirit, she'd find some reason to make herself scarce for a few hours so her friends could have some alone time. They weren't likely to get any more for the foreseeable future.  
  
"Keeping yourself busy?"  
  
Dawn started, then glanced over to see Xander staring back at her over the top of Willow's head.  
  
"Yeah. You HAVE to watch this anime Angie sent me."  
  
"How're you holding up?"  
  
"I'm good. Young, energetic, ready to be turned into a psychotic animalistic predator. How'd you sleep?"  
  
"Like a thing that sleeps really deeply." He started to sit up, then froze, staring down at Willow. "And my entire right arm is still at it."  
  
In response, Willow scrunched her nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "put the aardvark down."  
  
"What aardvark, Will?" Xander tapped her forehead with his free hand. She thumped his throat, making him gag.  
  
"Aardvark 66 . . . ."  
  
Dawn winced. "Should we wake her up?"  
  
"Nah, this is nothing. When we were six she once literally kicked me out of bed."  
  
Dawn smirked at the mental image. Having not known either of them at so young an age, the visual was suffering "big head on little body" syndrome, and she nearly laughed out loud.  
  
"Anyway," Xander was grinning as well, looking down at the frown on Willow's face as she continued mumbling at whomever it was holding the aardvark. "Tell me about this anime?"  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
They arrived at the site in the woods at dusk, in hopes that the hour would mean that they could be alone, and not worry about other people near the bridge.   
  
Dawn fought back a yawn. Assuming they were right about how this spirit chose its host, she was a shoo-in. Xander cast a worried glance at her. It was no overstatement to say that he REALLY didn't like this plan.  
  
Of course, it was the only one they had. He was suddenly glad that Carmella wasn't joining them. A plot this half-assed would not impress the young slayer.  
  
"You ready, Dawnie?" Willow looked almost as worried as he was; another point against the plan. Dawn's jaw was set, though. She would not be talked out of this.  
  
"We're giving you a ten minute head start." Xander glanced at his watch. "That's hopefully long enough for the spirit to get possessive." He caught Dawn's eye. There was steel there, but he had to try. "You're sure you want to do this?"  
  
"YES, okay?" Dawn glared at him, then her shoulders slumped. "I know you're worried, but Willow's got my back." She glanced at the witch. "But I'm blaming you if I eat any more rabbits."  
  
"Duly noted." Willow flapped one hand toward the woods. "Now, shoo!"  
  
Neither Willow nor Xander spoke for the entire ten minutes. Once upon a time they might have filled the time with old in-jokes and friendly banter, but there was no longer a need to speak. For all their time apart, it still seemed at times that they were two halves of the same person. Sharing a silence told each other as much as one hundred jokes.  
  
Still, it was a long ten minutes.  
  
Finally, they set off, Xander leading the way toward the creek where Dawn had tackled him. They made no effort at moving quietly, but rather joked and chatted at full volume, hoping to draw the spirit's attention. About ten feet from the edge of the creek bed, Willow reached out and idly snapped a limb off a tree.  
  
Xander barely had time to turn before Dawn rushed out of the bushes and slammed Willow to the ground.  
  
He moved quickly to his best friend's side, but Willow was already rolling over as he crouched down to help her up. She'd had the wind knocked out of her–for all of her height, Dawn didn't have the physical strength to do much more–but Xander's heart was racing somewhere in the vicinity of his clavicle, and it shot up to his Adams apple when Dawn, growling, grabbed him by the right ear and wrenched him up.  
  
Xander knew, he KNEW that he could easily break Dawn's grip and push the girl away, but he froze, panic eating at his ribs, as his mind replaced his slight friend with a taller, bulkier figure.  
  
A figure in a clerical collar.  
  
"You're the one who sees." Caleb's voice echoed in his head as Dawn cocked her fist to strike. "Let's see what we can do about that."  
  
Pain shot through Xander's head even as Willow shouted and Dawn froze, fist inches from his jaw. The witch called his name, but Xander couldn't find the breath to answer as his own scream bounced through his mind and he wrenched himself backward and felt his legs go out. He threw a hand up to his prosthetic eye, scooting backward through the rotting leaves until his back struck bark. He huddled there, while Dawn twitched and hissed, left eye shut tight, watching the same sparks and flashes that had erupted across his vision when Buffy and Spike had dragged him from the vineyard along with the injured girls. He shivered in agony even as he tried to remember that it was over, that it had happened almost a year ago, and that he was okay.  
  
But his breath still quickened and his heart still thundered and all he could do was watch as Caleb thrust his thumb into his eye-socket over and over again.  
  
End part four 


	24. The Sad Tale of Bunnyman part 5

Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 6: The Sad Tale of Bunnyman  
  
Part Five  
  
Willow spared Xander a worried glance before focusing back on Dawn. He was obviously in trouble, but if she couldn't keep the possessed girl in check . . . .  
  
Dawn was growling and spitting, struggling against the bonds. Then her body suddenly went slack, and her eyes widened.  
  
"Willow,"  
  
Willow cursed silently. Of course. If the spirit couldn't act through Dawn, it would try and find another host . . . . But the only other people there were herself and . . . .  
  
She snapped her gaze back to Xander, who still huddled against the tree, shaking and clutching at his prosthetic eye, but now his head was jerking back and forth. Keeping one hand directed toward Dawn, she shot the other one out, nearly screaming the words of power. Whatever was happening to her friend could give the spirit an in on his brain, and if it got a hold of him . . . .  
  
The words were barely out in time, as Xander's eyes shot wide open and he lurched against the tree, halting into a crouching position. He whimpered wordlessly.   
  
Dawn was a stubborn, often angry young woman, and when the spirit got a hold of that, it went after vengeance. But in Xander's current state of panic, the fight or flight instinct would take on a different form.  
  
In Dawn, the spirit was a predator. In Xander, it was prey.  
  
Xander jerked again, and his mouth opened and he let out a soft, high-pitched keening sound before dropping back down to sit on the ground. He stared wide eyed at Willow, then shot his eyes sideways, to Dawn.  
  
Who was tensing again, and starting to growl. Willow gritted her teeth, struggling to maintain a grip on both of her friends. The spirit, at a loss of where to go, was bouncing back and forth between them, looking desperately for a way out. She had to make it choose one, or she'd never be able to communicate with it.  
  
But which one?  
  
She frowned, closing her eyes, trying to feel out which of her friends would be more suitable. Xander was less likely to attack, but his mind was caught up in a panic attack, confused, terrified, and likely to strike out at the least provocation. Dawn was more focused and a lot more calm, but much, much more dangerous. Either way she'd have to keep a grip on the other, to make sure the spirit didn't try to retake them . . . .   
  
And then, suddenly, she knew exactly what she needed to do. She reached out with her mind, enveloping both Xander and Dawn within it, preventing the spirit from entering either one. Wordlessly, she asked their permission.  
  
Dawn was confused, but nodded slightly. Xander flinched, then nodded as well. Willow swallowed a lump in her throat, then whispered more words of power.  
  
Both Dawn and Xander slumped down into unconsciousness, and Willow opened up her own mind, letting the spirit in.  
  
She was much to powerful, and too in control of her mental capabilities for the spirit to take full control, and the spirit knew this. But it was angry at the way it had been trapped between the other two, confused why someone as balanced in nature as Willow would be looking to hurt it. It consented, and entered her mind.   
  
Willow's body dropped to the ground near her friends as her mind dropped into the astral plane.  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
The spirit was large, but intangible. It took on the form of a wolf, with cloven hooves, antlers, and scaled skin. It loomed over Willow on the blank plane. She could feel hot breath, smell forest decay and spring buds, feel earth under her feet. She stared it down.  
  
She brought forward images of the spirit's victims, the bodies hanging from the bridge, the grieving families, the drugged Bunnyman huddled in his room at the asylum. And she spoke a single word: "Why?"  
  
The spirit showed her its woods, as it had been, before mankind. It showed her the deer and the rabbits, the racoons and squirrels and snakes and wolves all moving through the trees and the water, animals dying and animals giving birth, in equal measure. Then it forced her to watch, as the woods were slowly destroyed by colonists and industrialists. She watched the railroad bridge being built, bringing with it fumes of burning coal and oil, hot steam and gasoline. She watched the asphalt being laid down, fencing the spirit into this one, lonely stretch of woods. She watched as the wolves vanished and the deer, lacking its natural predator, spawning in too great numbers, until they were starving and weak. She saw the teenagers coming in, leaving behind metal and plastic and styrofoam that wouldn't bio-degrade. She saw men and woman walking through, dropping cigarette butts that burned through the fallen leaves, smoking the smaller animals out of their homes.   
  
She showed it happy families, men and women living in peace with each other, people recycling and helping clean up the woods. She showed him as much life as she possibly could, but the spirit shook its head.  
  
It showed her life in balance with death, creation with destruction, cycles of animals and plants flourishing with the help of the others. And it showed her, again, the destruction of all those lives, pushing forward, past the present and into the future of blackened, dead trees, a lifeless woods.  
  
Willow frowned, and showed it the police coming into the woods to investigate the bodies, breaking branches and leaving behind bits of paper, cigarettes, coffee cups in their hurry to solve the crime and make the area safe. She showed it mankind giving up on the woods, believing it to be evil because it is bringing death. She showed it bulldozers and apartment complexes rising up where the trees once stood.  
  
The spirit reared back, and hesitantly, in a gruff voice, it used the words it could sense in her mind.  
  
"No."  
  
"That's what will happen if you keep killing people."  
  
"Life and death. Balance."  
  
"We're learning those things. Every day people are learning more about it. But people are afraid of nature, of the woods. If they think it will kill them, they'll kill it first."  
  
"Need a predator."  
  
"Men are their own predators." Willow brought forward images of war, domestic abuse, genocide. "We keep ourselves in check."  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay, so maybe not very well. But people are trying. Taking over minds, forcing them to kill, it will only lead to destruction faster."  
  
The spirit turned away.  
  
So Willow called forth images of Dawn. Dawn lecturing one of the potentials who didn't cut apart the plastic rings from a six pack. Dawn helping her mother, and then Tara tend the flowers and bushes in the backyard of the old Summers house. Dawn walking through the woods, enjoying it without destroying it.  
  
The spirit turned back, slightly, and Willow hid a smile. She showed it Dawn attacking Xander in the water, under the spirit's own influence. Dawn turning her back on environmental issues, because she remembers being forced to care too much. She called up every memory she could think of of people she knew, caring for the world around them. She even showed it the destruction of Sunnydale, trying to fight back the evil forces that would destroy the spirit and the woods it coveted just as surely as mankind in its ignorance would, but doing it purposefully, with evil intent.  
  
The spirit stared at her. "Balance."  
  
"Yes."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
Dawn woke in the dark woods, with no idea how long she might have been out. She brushed leaves and debris from her jeans, pushing herself up into a kneeling position. Willow had knocked her out gently, she had none of the pain she associated with being forced unconscious.   
  
She tried to feel to see if the spirit would try and take over her again, but she was definitely alone in her mind.  
  
She heard someone moaning softly a few feet away, and after a moment could make out Xander's shape as he slowly sat up. She hurried over to him.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
Xander shivered, then nodded. "I'm sorry, I don't know–"  
  
"DON'T apologize." Dawn wrapped an arm over his shoulder. His cheek was bruised where his own fingers had dug into the skin, trying to protect his missing eye. "It's not your fault."  
  
"I don't know what happened." Xander's voice was barely a whisper. "When you knocked Willow down, then grabbed me like that . . . . It was like I was there, in the vineyard, all over again. I . . . guess I kinda freaked."  
  
Dawn smiled. "Kinda. Screwed up our plan pretty royally, too."  
  
"Well, I never liked the plan, anyway."  
  
"Seriously, are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, Dawn. I'm alright." Xander sat up the rest of the way, then pushed Dawn aside. "I mean, I'm still a little wigged, but it was nothing I can't handle. It was just–"  
  
"Post-traumatic stress disorder." Willow was shoving herself up onto her elbows. "You were reliving it. That's PTSD, Xander. You need to see someone–"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Willow moved toward them. "No, you're really not. Xand–"  
  
"Willow, leave it. I'll be okay. This never happened before, it was just the situation, okay?"  
  
Dawn frowned. "You've never panicked like that over . . . what happened?"  
  
Xander shrugged. "I've had nightmares . . . . A lot of nightmares. But they've been going away. I really think I'm okay." He stood, carefully, then offered his hand to Willow. "Did you get it? Did you stop the spirit?"  
  
Willow shrugged. "I think so. There's no real right answer here. I mean, it was right, humans ARE destroying the woods, but getting them to kill each other isn't going to help anything. I tried to show it that."  
  
"So it's still here?" Dawn spun, as though she would see it sneaking up behind her.  
  
"It's always going to be. It doesn't have a choice, this is its home." Willow frowned. "I think it agreed to stay away from humans. As long as no one comes along to build an apartment complex here, I think it'll be okay."  
  
Dawn smiled. "Hey, maybe when Lisa is done getting the Lizard Man's domain protected, she can come and argue with the builders up here."  
  
"Lisa?" Willow raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh yeah. Don't tell me Xander didn't tell you about Lisa and Leyna,"  
  
"He's been pretty quiet on the slayer subject, just 'this girl is coming, look after her'."  
  
"Well, then, we've got some stories to tell you." Dawn grabbed Xander's hand and began leading him and Willow back up to the car. "After all, you gotta be prepared for all the girls you're gonna be meeting in Europe."  
  
"Somehow, Dawn, I get the feeling that European slayer hunting is going to be a bit different from what we do." Xander grinned. "If nothing else, you gotta watch out for those language barriers."  
  
"Yeah, and hopefully, your slayers won't all be living in supernatural central. I mean, there's gotta be SOME place in the world that doesn't have some sort of beastie or ooglie to fight, right?" Dawn tripped over a branch and grinned. "Hey, I'm not all Dawn of the Woods any more."  
  
"Don't get too excited, your love of nature is half of what convinced the spirit to quit." Willow smirked. "You're making me look bad."  
  
"That," Xander wrapped an arm over Willow's shoulder. "Is patently impossible."  
  
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\  
  
"Have a good trip, Will. Don't get yourself in trouble over there, okay? We can't translocate to save your ass."  
  
Willow grinned and shouldered her backpack. They were back in the hotel, though Dawn had pleaded utter boredom and taken the car off to do some recreational driving. Both Willow and Xander could see right through that excuse, but they let her get away with it.  
  
"Please. I think I can handle myself, magic or no."  
  
Xander smirked. "I dunno. I have a sopping wet sneaker in the toilet that says differently." He frowned then. "You seriously missed? 'Cause that worries me a bit."  
  
Willow grinned and winked at him. "Of course I didn't. A) teleporting into the hallway, where anyone can see me? Not such a grand idea. And b) it sounded on the phone like you guys could use a good laugh."  
  
"You teleported into the toilet on purpose."  
  
"What, you think you have the market cornered on inappropriate, self-effacing humor?"  
  
Xander pretended to ponder that for a moment. "Well, yeah. I AM the undefeated champion. Well, aside from Rodney Dangerfield, that is."  
  
"You don't get no respect."  
  
"I don't."  
  
Willow grinned, then leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Xander's left cheek, right on top of one of the finger shaped bruises. "Seriously, Xander. You need to see someone. A panic attack like that, even only one, it's not a good thing."  
  
"I know, Wills. And if it happens again, I promise, I'll drop everything and find myself a really good counselor." He shrugged. "But right now, I can't help but think this is more important. There's a hell of a lot of girls out there who are in need of exactly the kind of Xander-shaped support that I can provide." He grimaced. "Barring Carmella. I really hope she'll reconsider and give us a call."  
  
"If she won't come willingly, there's nothing you can do." Willow smiled. "Besides, how many girls have you talked to, and only one has out right said 'no'? I'd say you're setting a tough precedent for me." Willow glanced at the clock. "But I've got a flight out of the country in two days, and a large backpack to buy and pack." Willow reached into her pocket for the translocation spell ingredients.  
  
Xander grabbed her arm. "Not quite yet." And he pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. "Call me. I don't care what time it is. You need anything, even just a virtual, over the phone hug, you call me."  
  
"Same to you, buster."  
  
Willow started setting up her spell, but just before she placed the last stone at her feet, she turned and caught Xander's eye. He smiled and waved. She set the stone down, and faded from sight.  
  
Xander was just turning away to get ready for bed when he heard her voice calling from the fading circle on the floor.   
  
"Next one's outside DC!"  
  
"Again?!"  
  
tbc in "Foresta"  
  
Addendum to the author's note: Holy shit, I actually finished this story. I was beginning to wonder if I ever would. I don't know what it was, but this story was really hard for me to get going on. Hence it being filled with, well, filler. A lot of the character stuff in this chapter was somewhat superfluous, but if nothing else, I do enjoy playing around in the characters' minds. And since most of my inspiration on this story these days is conversations about pop culture between Xander and Dawn, I had to get SOME of that out of my head.  
  
I hope you all are still enjoying this story, and thanks for all of your reviews! "Foresta" might take a little while again, as I'm still job hunting and am now stage managing a show, but it's already forming in my head, so hopefully it won't be TOO long.  
  
On Xander and PTSD: I had a little trouble with this, as I knew I wanted to do something with the emotional impact of losing an eye, but I wasn't sure I was a skilled enough writer to tackle the topic. I also had the trouble of, once I brought it into the story, it had to remain an issue. I can't simply present it and then have the characters move on their ordinary business, but since the story requires the characters traveling, and it's pretty much impossible to get proper, psychological care while they're on the road, I'm going to have to work on this issue a little bit. It will definitely be coming back, but perhaps not for a little while.   
  
Keep an eye out for Carmella, she's not nearly done yet.   
  
As I've said before, I'm starting to get a feel for the ultimate arc of this series. It's a bit of a doozy. God knows it'll change a lot as I keep writing, but we're not even halfway yet, so I hope you all are ready for a long haul.  
  
-Casix 


	25. Foresta part 1

Addendum to the disclaimer: The Montgomery County Historical Society, the portrait of Foresta, and yes, even the dress exhibit are real. Foresta herself, however, is completely fictional. There IS a ghost story connected to the Foresta portrait, but since my sister (who works for the MCHS) and I are pretty sure that it was made up on the spot by one of her coworkers, and since I don't actually know that ghost story, nor a way to find it, since that woman is on maternity leave, I've gone ahead and created my own.  
  
The Beall-Dawson House and the Dr. Stonestreet exhibit are both also real. The one time I went into the doctor's exhibit, many years ago, I nearly threw up. This is actually a common reaction to the exhibit. Xander and friends may end up in there at some point, but I'd prefer to get a chance to see the exhibit in person again, first, so don't hold your breath....  
  
Addendum to the author's note: Does anyone in the DC area know of any decent job openings for a recent graduate? Just kidding. But since it is my search for employment that's keeping me from updating as frequently as I'd like, cross your fingers so the economy can improve.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 7: Foresta  
  
Part One  
  
The next day found Xander and Dawn once again northwest of Washington DC, only a few exits further out from the beltway. They were sitting in a booth at the back of the Broadway Diner in Rockville, MD, across from Foresta Dawson-McKinley, a 23 year old slayer they had met that morning. She'd arranged quickly for the time off work, which Xander appreciated, since it was obvious when they'd met up with her in her office at the Montgomery County Historical Society that she had a lot she needed to get done. Something about an exhibit, he wasn't entirely sure what. But her boss had let her off for an hour and a half, and they had to make the most of the time.  
  
Dawn had just finished her usual spiel about slayers, vampires, and the forces of darkness, and surprisingly, Foresta hadn't even blinked.  
  
She did, however, give them a narrow-eyed suspicious look.  
  
"Did Mother Jude send you?"  
  
"What?" Xander leaned back in the booth.  
  
"No, obviously not." Foresta smiled at him. "You're a guy."  
  
"So glad you noticed."  
  
Foresta shrugged. "She didn't seem too keen on men as a whole."  
  
Xander blinked. 'Who is Mother Jude?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Foresta spent a moment attacking her salad. "But a couple of girls about your age," she nodded to Dawn, "came by last week, told m the same thing about being chosen by God to rid the world of evil. Only, instead of wanting me to go to Cleveland, they wanted me to join them under the tutelage of a 'Mother Jude'. I think they were nuns, they introduced themselves as 'sisters of the order'. It sounded like some kind of wacko cult, so I told them I'd think about it, and 'lost' their number."  
  
Xander and Dawn stared at her for a long moment, while she went back to eating her salad. They exchanged a look.  
  
"Um, as far as we know," Dawn leaned forward, elbows on the table. "We're the only ones looking for slayers. My sister was the only one, like we said, but a friend of ours awakened the rest of you."  
  
Foresta nodded without looking up. "I know I'm different than I was a year ago, that part all makes sense." She glanced at Xander, then back to her plate. "How do I know that your 'Helsing Institute' isn't another cult?"  
  
"You don't, I guess." Xander frowned. "Though I don't think Buffy's charismatic enough as a leader to start one." He grinned at that, remembering how much trouble his friend had had, convincing the potentials to follow her instructions, even before the near massacre at the vineyard. He didn't notice the way Foresta's eyes brightened when he smiled, but Dawn did, and filed the information away for further reference. "How about we stick around, tell you more about the Institute, and you can decide for yourself?"  
  
Foresta's arched, sandy eyebrows rose, then lowered and scrunched together. "I don't think I have time for that right now." Her eyebrows rose again. "Unless you want to help me out with the exhibit. You could tell me about it while we hang dresses?"  
  
Xander's eyebrows drew together. "Ooookay."  
  
"Of course, I'd have to clear it with my boss, first. We're always keen on volunteers, but she likes to meet them, know they won't try to steal anything, or hurt the exhibits." Foresta pulled out a Palm Pilot, and began marking things off. "Can you come by the Historical Society tomorrow morning? Say, 9:30?"  
  
"Sure!" Dawn shoved her last french fry into her mouth. "Sounds like fun."  
  
"Yeah," Xander's voice was slightly more hesitant. He was briefly worried what spending his time hanging dresses would do to his status as a heterosexual male, but figured it couldn't be any worse than seven years without a male best friend. He grabbed the check before Foresta could reach for her wallet, and Dawn smirked. She had a few plans of her own in the making.  
  
"Soooo," Dawn drew out the single syllable while XAnder unlocked the car. "Foresta seems . . . nice,"  
  
"Yeah." Xander shot Dawn a look over the car. "She's definitely taking the slayer thing well."  
  
"And she's pretty cute."  
  
Xander grinned. "True. Which means that your mind is off and running, thinking of ways to set us up."  
  
Dawn tried for an innocent expression, then gave up quickly. "She likes you."  
  
"She's suspicious of me."  
  
"No way! Did you notice the way she melted when you payed the check?" Dawn smirked. "Of course you didn't. You're an oblivious male."  
  
Xander nodded. "Of course, if she's interested in ME, then she must be evil."  
  
"Well, that is your track record." Dawn sighed theatrically. "I guess we'd better call Buffy, we'll need her for slaying duties, soon,"  
  
Xander snorted. "Oh, like your record is any better? I seem to remember you dating a vampire or two in your time."  
  
"Please, I have impeccable taste."  
  
"You crushed on SPIKE."  
  
"I crushed on YOU, too."  
  
Xander's grin took on a rather dopey quality as he navigated the heavy lunch time traffic on Rockville Pike. "That's right, I was your first crush, wasn't I?"  
  
"Well, if we're going on the 'I was created by monks at age 14' time line, yes." Dawn grinned. "But in my mind, that honor belongs to another."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"That kid from 'The Adventures of Pete and Pete'."  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Pete."  
  
Xander rolled his eyes. "I always liked Pete's friend."  
  
Dawn blushed. "Really?"  
  
"Hell yeah, Ellen was a total hottie."  
  
"Oh, her. I was talking about Little Pete. His friend was cute."  
  
"Artie?" Xander made a face. Even HE had a better fashion sense than Artie. "Or do you mean the weird chick with the broken arm?"  
  
Dawn shuddered. "I told you, I have impeccable taste. Of course the weird chick with the cast. She rocked."  
  
Xander grinned. "That was a great show."  
  
"Yeah it was. Or how about 'Clarissa Explains It All'?"  
  
Xander nodded. "Ah, the heyday of Saturday Night Nickelodeon. I remember it well." He was glad he'd gotten Dawn's mind off of Foresta for the moment. With his record when it came to slayers, he didn't need her playing cupid.  
  
Even if Foresta WAS cute.  
  
Foresta's boss was more than thrilled to meet Dawn and Xander, once she learned that they were interested in volunteering. As Foresta had joked, the MCHS was always looking for more "young blood". She then immediately started backpedaling when she realized how much that made the Society ladies sound like vampires.  
  
Xander had smiled at her, reassuring her that he and Dawn knew what she meant, which made Foresta blush and Dawn smirk.  
  
"Your face is going to freeze like that, you know," Xander muttered to her as they followed Foresta out the back door of the administration building and they headed toward the Beall-Dawson house.   
  
Dawn stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
Their first job, it seemed, was as pack horses. It took an hour to set up several dressing dummies in one of the bedroom-turned-exhibit-rooms. Dawn took advantage of the time to give Foresta a cliffs notes version of the past seven years, making certain to highlight all of Xander's exploits. She and Foresta leaned back against the large display table in the center of the room, Foresta scanning through pages upon pages of notes and pictures, while Dawn mostly smirked and urged Xander to move the dummy "a little to the left". It was difficult to tell if Foresta was buying everything that Xander was telling her. She'd obviously noticed her increased strength and stamina, having carried two of the heavy, antique dummies up the stairs by herself, while Xander and Dawn had struggled to maneuver a third, but it was still rather a bit of a logic leap to make it from "hey, look, I'm strong!" to "oh my god, vampires, demons, mummies, and giant bugs really exist."  
  
It seemed to Xander that Dawn was focusing entirely too much on her occasional conversations with Ampata about Xander's charms, and not nearly enough on the important facts of life on a hellmouth. He was too out of breath from dummy maneuvering to complain, however.  
  
"So we all decided that since we were the ones to call all the potential slayers, it was up to us to find and train them. Or at the very least, let them know what they're up against." Dawn twirled a pencil between her fingers. "The first girl we found, Joanna, was actually from this area, too. Well, Bethesda. She got a real good look at the demonic night life, when we went up against a demon that had been terrorizing Cabin John for the last several centuries. . . ."  
  
Foresta blinked. "The old marble steps story?"  
  
"You know it?"  
  
"Mr. Beall, the guy who tells all the ghost stories for our Halloween History Day, loves that one. I always assumed he'd made it up."  
  
"Never assume." Xander rolled back his sleeve, showing the faint pink lines of scars across his forearm. "You might get bit for it."  
  
Foresta's eyes widened. "You go bit by that thing?"  
  
"Well, to be fair, I was shoving a pocket knife through its jaw, at the time."  
  
Dawn's smirk returned full force as she watched Foresta's eyes go wide. Oh yeah, the new slayer had it BAD.  
  
"Does. . . . Does that happen a lot?"  
  
"Which part, the jaw-knifing, or the biting?"  
  
"Being injured."  
  
"Not as often as you'd think." Xander shrugged. "I've been fighting demons since tenth grade, and managed to get out with a couple broken bones, but mostly just scratches and bruises. Maybe a concussion or two, though Giles–you'll meet Giles at the institute, if you decide to go–wins the prize for that one."  
  
Foresta blinked. "That's it? But I thought you were just a guy. Not the one with all the powers and the like."  
  
Xander raised a hand to the yellowed bruises on his left cheek. "Well, that's not ENTIRELY it."  
  
Dawn grimaced. Neither she nor Xander really liked to dwell on what had happened to his eye. With Willow's enchanted prosthetic, it was pretty easy, usually, to pretend that it had never happened. For her, at least.  
  
Xander still tended to wake her up occasionally, with his nightmares.  
  
Foresta seemed to sense the increased tension and backed off the topic. She studied her notes again.  
  
"Okay, these dummies should do for a couple of the larger dresses, but we've got a lot of really little ones." She grinned. "Seems that American obesity is entirely a late twentieth century fad. Most of these women were tiny."  
  
Xander straightened, rolling his shoulders. "Are the smaller ones any lighter?"  
  
"A bit."  
  
"Right then." He gestured toward the door. "Lay on, Macduff."  
  
Dawn adjusted her grip on her end of the dummy. "I thought you said these things were lighter?"  
  
"They are." Foresta, standing on the back porch of one of the Society's storage buildings, had four of the dummies balanced perfectly across her arms and shoulders. Xander and Dawn were once again struggling with one. "Your witch couldn't make you guys stronger, too?"  
  
"It doesn't really work like that." Dawn readjusted her grip again, grunting. "Please tell me these are the last of them." Her shoulders were really starting to ache.  
  
"For now. I can get the rest later." Foresta jumped down the steps from the porch as though she was carrying nothing more than a light backpack. "I want to get some of the dresses on the dummies, so I can take pictures. We don't have enough dummies or display cases to go around, so a lot of it will be photographs hanging on the display boards." She grinned. "When we get these set up, we can start moving the panels. Thank you guys SO much for helping, I couldn't do this without you."  
  
Xander grinned, and hoisted his end of the dummy higher, inadvertently forcing Dawn to crouch down on her end. "No problem, ma'am."  
  
Foresta giggled, and for once, Dawn decided to roll her eyes instead of smirking. Hanging dresses she could do. She didn't like being a pack horse.  
  
"Come on, my fingers are going numb."  
  
Foresta nodded and danced lightly down the path back to the Beall-Dawson house. Xander lowered his end of the dummy again, so Dawn could walk more easily. They stumbled slowly down the steps from the porch.  
  
Dawn's foot slipped on the grass, and she toppled backward. Xander wrenched his wrists, managing to shift the dummy slightly to the left so it wouldn't land on top of her. Foresta, already a good twenty feet down the path, stopped at Dawn's exclamation, looking chagrined.  
  
"You sure you guys got that?"  
  
Xander shrugged a little sheepishly. With a small, manly grunt, he hoisted the dummy up over his left shoulder and reached out his right hand to help Dawn up. Dawn took it, but as her weight shifted, Xander overbalanced, the dummy's weight dragging him backward, until he and Dawn landed in a pile on grass.  
  
Dawn rolled off Xander, wiping sweat off her forehead. Foresta came running back toward them as she stood up.  
  
"Oh my gosh, are you two alright?" Foresta bounced a little, then set down two of her dummies so she could offer a hand to Xander.  
  
"Fine!" Xander ignored her hand, preferring to stay where he was for the moment to catch his breath. "Just fine." He grinned. "I refuse to be felled by a dressing dummy."  
  
"Good." Foresta raised her eyebrow. "Mary Kay would kill me if I managed to maim her only young volunteers."  
  
Xander finally shoved himself to his feet, reaching down to pick up the fallen dummy. He stood it up on its stand, resting one hand on the dummy's shoulder. He affected a haughty tone. "I am not maimed, for I am ARTIE!" He struck a muscle man pose. "The strongest man in the world!"  
  
Dawn started down the path. "Fine then, Artie. You can carry your own dummy."  
  
"You know how they say that some portraits' eyes follow you wherever you go?" Dawn leaned to one side, then the other. She and Xander stood in the parlor of the Beall-Dawson house, waiting while Foresta sifted through her papers for the umpteenth time. "These portraits do that."  
  
Xander nodded.  
  
The portraits in question, displaying a stern-looking Victorian man and a reclining Colonial woman, were hung just over an antique roll top desk on the far wall. Their painted eyes held an authoritative glint that had Xander unconsciously standing up a little straighter.   
  
Dawn was impressed. Anyone who could have that effect on Xander, even painted, must have been powerful.  
  
"All portraits do." Foresta folded her papers back in her pockets, looking toward the paintings. "That's what happens when the eyes of the painting are focused properly. There's nothing supernatural about it." She frowned. "At least, I don't think there is." She tilted her head at the portraits. "Well, not about Mr. and Mrs. Dawson, anyway. They were farmers." She smiled. "They didn't even die mysteriously." Her eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Well, there's one painting in our collection whose eyes don't track. You guys want to see her?"  
  
Xander shrugged. "Sure. So long as we don't have to do any more carrying."  
  
It was late afternoon now, and Foresta seemed to be confident by this point that Xander and Dawn were, for the most part, on the level. She had given them every random, back breaking, remedial task she could think of on her exhibit, and they did it with a smile, and in Xander's case, a lot of rather silly jokes. She had told them earlier that she was pretty sure a con-man would have given up on her when she had them carry two of the dummies back to the storage building, only to bring them back up the stairs to the exhibit room again two hours later. This had earned her a brief glare from Dawn.  
  
But if it meant that they got her to the safety of the Institute, the pair of slayer-trackers was willing to deal with a few pulled muscles and twisted ankles.  
  
Foresta lead them back up the stairs to the exhibit room on the second floor, then walked straight to the back of the room, easily shifting one of the eight foot, blue display panels to one side. She revealed a fireplace, and above it, a portrait of a young woman about her own age, sitting on a stool by a window in a billowing white dress. The woman's mousy brown hair was pulled back sharply from her forehead, and she watched the room with a faint, half-smile, reminiscent of the Mona Lisa. Foresta stepped back, a similar soft smile gracing her features.  
  
"This is Foresta." She shrugged. "The Society found this painting a couple years before I was born. My mom was a total history buff, and when she came to the museum and heard about Foresta, she decided she liked the name, so she gave it to me." Foresta cocked her head to the side again. "It sorta seems right to me, you know? That I would end up working here." She stepped back. "I was gonna reveal her anyway, since that's her wedding dress she's wearing in the painting. I thought it would make a good addition to the exhibit."  
  
Dawn was leaning back and forth again. "You're right, her eyes don't track." She frowned. "What, was the painter really bad, or something?"  
  
"Not at all." Foresta stepped back and leaned against the table, not shifting her eyes away from the portrait. "It was intentionally. Tradition or something. Superstition maybe, that if you finished a portrait after the subject died, you didn't let their eyes follow you."  
  
Xander blinked. "She died before it was done? She's pretty young there, isn't she?"  
  
"Yeah." Foresta finally turned away from the picture. "She died on her wedding night, or possibly a couple days after, the details are a little fudgy. I think it might have been tuberculosis. There's a ghost story that Mr. Dawson tells about her, too, that she wanders around the third floor, late at night, filled with nerves about her encroaching wedding. They say you can see lights on in the windows up there, when no one's in the building, but I've never seen them."  
  
"You come by here a lot at night?"  
  
"I live in the storage house, just moved in a couple weeks ago. That way, if the library alarm goes off late at night, there's someone here to make sure it's not a false alarm before calling the police. Considering the fact that that's like, the most sensitive alarm EVER, I end up waking up in the middle of the night a lot. Never seen anything spooky out here, though."  
  
Dawn winced. "Well, you will now."  
  
Foresta frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
Xander shrugged apologetically. "Murphy. You've now cursed us all. Just wait, within a week, something 'spooky' is bound to happen."  
  
Foresta shuddered.  
  
Tbc. . . .  
  
Post-chapter notes: Yeah, the portrait of Foresta really DOESN'T track. It's kind of creepy. The explanation as for why is completely true.  
  
So, incidentally, is the wedding dress exhibit at the Beall-Dawson house. If you live in Montgomery County, you should totally go check it out. Details of the exhibit hours can be found at the Montgomery County Historical Society website: 


	26. Foresta part 2

Addendum to the Author's note: well, holy geez, I just noticed that I referenced you all to the MCHS website without providing a link. So, um, here you go: It's hard to tell from the picture, but yes, there is a third floor to the Beall-Dawson house. The windows to it are on the sides of the house, not shown in the image.  
  
This story is giving me some trouble in that, unlike the Bunnyman, I know exactly what I want to do with it, yet, like the Bunnyman, I'm not certain how I'm going to get there, yet. Well, that's half the fun of writing, isn't it? Even the author wants to see what happens....  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 7: Foresta  
  
Part two  
  
"Is it just me, or does it feel like we're going in circles?" Dawn poked at cheese quesadilla.   
  
"Well, we've been to the DC area before, if that's what you mean." Xander took a large bite out of his burrito, then reached for his soda. "I kind of like it, though." He glanced out the window, over the parking lot of the plaza. "Its got a small town feel, while being close enough to a big city that you don't have to get bored."  
  
They were sitting in a California Tortilla, next to a large movie theater, no more than three blocks from the Historical Society. Foresta had recommended the place to them when they muttered about being hungry, but wasn't joining them. Something about having to take some time to think without them around.  
  
Xander suspected it had something to do with their comments earlier about "something spooky" happening. They'd managed to somewhat freak the young woman out, which he regretted. On the other hand, if she was worried about it, she was aware of it, which he couldn't quite think of as a downside.  
  
Dawn was nodding. "That must be it." She nibbled at her quesadilla with a thoughtful look. "We should actually go into DC, this time. We might not get the opportunity again on this trip."  
  
"Yeah." Xander smiled. "I bet you could get Wood to give you credit on it for your social studies class. That International Spy Museum sounds pretty neat."  
  
"And Joanna recommends the shopping in Georgetown."  
  
The two sat silently eating for a few more minutes, watching the people walk by on their way to the theater. Xander finished his burrito and reached for his nachos. "What do you say to a movie tonight? 'Dawn of the Dead' is showing."  
  
"Zombies?" Dawn swallowed. "Isn't that a little bit too close to home?"  
  
"Nah, they never get the details right. We could mock it."  
  
"Sounds like a plan."  
  
They finished their meal quickly, then stood to leave.  
  
"What do you think our spooky is going to be, on this one?" Dawn stepped through the door as Xander held it open for her. "I'm betting on the Foresta painting. It's kind of creepy, the fact that they had to finish it after she died."  
  
"Nah," Xander turned toward the theater. "That ghost story sounds pretty tame. Lights on in the attic? A ghost wandering around with pre-wedding nerves? She died of tuberculosis, not some violent thing. I doubt she's violent at all."  
  
"Still, weird coincidence, you know? Foresta-ghost, Foresta-slayer?"   
  
"A bit." Xander nearly choked when he saw the price of the movie tickets. "Geez. In Sunnydale, tickets were nearly half this much." He grumbled slightly as he handed over his credit card. "$8.50 for one ticket? What a ripoff!"  
  
Dawn shrugged. "So I won't make you buy me popcorn. We could do with a little bit of non-slaying fun."  
  
"True." Xander took the two tickets from the sales person, signing the receipt. "Think Giles will let this through as an expense of the trip?"  
  
"We'll tell him it was for research purposes."  
  
"That'll never work. The G-man is always talking about how pop culture misrepresents the supernatural." Xander grinned. "But it would be fun to try."  
  
As they walked toward the escalator, Xander spotted a group of people ahead of them and paused.  
  
They each wore a black trench coat, though the styles varied. The three guys were singing softly as they stepped on to the escalator. It was a song he recognized, though they were singing it in lounge singer style.  
  
"You mother get up, come on get down with the sickness,"  
  
The sole girl of the group was smiling softly at them, rolling her eyes a little. Her trench coat was some sort of fake-leather material, and a nicer cut than that of the canvas coats her three friends were wearing. She glanced back at the theater lobby, catching his eye momentarily.   
  
Xander sucked in a breath.  
  
She wasn't wearing her glasses this time, and her curly hair was tied back into a small, messy ponytail. Corkscrew curls wafted out of it around her ears. Her were a clear greenish brown color, and widened as she glanced from him to Dawn and back again.  
  
It took Xander a moment to place her. She lifted her foot slightly, scratching the side of it over her platform sandals. A red butterfly decorated the black band that stretched over the top of her foot, and it clicked.  
  
The girl from Maude's. In Gainesville. What on earth was she doing in Rockville?  
  
She turned back to her friends, tapping one of them on his shoulder. The taller boy, wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, glanced back at Xander and Dawn and shrugged. Though his hair was lighter than hers, and much straighter, it was easy to tell by their facial features that the two were related. She grimaced at him.  
  
"Can I have my ticket?"  
  
Xander glanced back down at Dawn, who was looking at him with a puzzled expression. He nodded, handing her the ticket, then gestured toward the group in front of them.  
  
"That girl. . . ."  
  
"What girl?"  
  
Xander looked back at the group. Three guys were riding down the escalator in front of them. The girl had vanished again. Xander shook his head.  
  
"Nothing,"  
  
What the hell was going on?  
  
Dawn leaned back on her bed, flipping her cell phone closed. "Well, we've got the go ahead on the weekend in DC. No slayers, no supernatural beasties, just you and me and a bunch of museums and monuments."  
  
Xander winced a little at the idea of spending that much time in museums. "They want us to go look at old stuff, and expect us not to encounter the supernatural?"  
  
"Giles says that the Smithsonian is clean of that stuff. They have special researchers, or something. The woogy stuff all goes to a source center in Northern Virginia so it can be contained properly."  
  
"Wow. Go Smithsonian."  
  
"Yep." Dawn glanced at her computer, where she had been typing sporadically throughout her conversation with the folks still at the Institute. "Wood says I have to go to the American History Museum, the Natural History Museum, the Air and Space Museum, and at least two of the art galleries. He wants reports on at least one thing from each one." She smiled. "And Giles says that if we don't go to the International Spy Museum, he'll string us up by our toes. I think he was kind of jealous."  
  
Xander laughed. "G-man is interested in spies, huh? Makes sense."  
  
"Yep!" Dawn glanced back down at the laptop screen. "Oh, and we're supposed to check out the Washington Monument, the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, and I get extra credit if I can find the Taft Memorial."  
  
"Taft?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Did he do anything?"  
  
"Got stuck in a bathtub."  
  
"So they made a memorial for him?"  
  
Dawn shrugged. "He was also the first president to ride in a car."  
  
"That's still not memorial worthy."  
  
"Well, I don't really need any extra credit, so I think we can skip that one." She clicked something on the screen. "The tourist board puts pretty much everything but the International Spy Museum in roughly the same place. I bet we can take one day to do all of that stuff, then spend a day in Georgetown."  
  
"Sounds like a plan."  
  
Dawn grinned. "You should invite Foresta to come with us."  
  
Xander groaned. "Dawn,"  
  
His complaint was cut off by the ringing of Dawn's cellphone. Xander still hadn't gotten a chance to replace his.  
  
"Speak of the cutie," Dawn flipped her phone open. "Hi Foresta! . . . Yeah, we're back at the hotel. . . . We really were kidding about that. Um, mostly. . . . You did? . . . Okay, we'll come over. . . . About twenty minutes. . . . No, you shouldn't call the police. If it is a ghost, they won't be able to help. . . . You said you got a lot of false alarms with that. . . . Whatever you think is best, it's your workplace. . . . Yeah, bye." She flipped the phone closed again. "You owe me twenty bucks. Seems like Foresta-ghost is making her presence known."  
  
Xander grimaced and handed over a twenty dollar bill. "I still think she won't be troublesome."  
  
"Well, she's got Foresta pretty freaked." Dawn closed her laptop and grabbed the keys off the night stand. "To the Mystery Machine!"  
  
"For the last time, we're not calling the car that!"  
  
Dawn pulled the car into the small gravel lot behind the Beall-Dawson house. She peered through the darkness at the old building, but couldn't see any unusual lights or anything. The night was practically silent, as silent as any can be next to several main roads in the middle of a city, anyway. There were no alarms blaring, or ghostly whisperings.  
  
"False alarm?" She glanced over at Xander, who was likewise studying the house.  
  
"Probably." Xander frowned. "I really don't think it's the Foresta-ghost that we need to worry about. That girl–"  
  
"Xander, there was no girl there. Just three guys in trench coats, singing the song from the movie."  
  
"She was there, Dawn. She was in Gainesville, too. I don't know what's going on, but if you had just let me talk to that guy–"  
  
Dawn shook her head. When she and Xander had gotten to the bottom of the escalator in the movie theater, Xander had immediately set out to start questioning the three guys in front of them, specifically the one wearing glasses. She'd had to grab his arm and lean all her weight against him to get him to stop. He was insistent that someone had been there, but she hadn't seen anything unusual.  
  
"Look, Xander, there wasn't anyone there." She placed a hand on his arm. "I know you've been having a tough time, recently, after . . . what happened in the woods in Virginia,"  
  
"I'm not going crazy, Dawn." Xander shrugged her hand off, opening the door. "I'm fine, and I know what I saw."  
  
"You're not fine." Dawn jumped out of the car after him, refusing to the let the subject rest. "I know you've started having the nightmares again. Dammit, Xander, listen to me!"  
  
Xander continued walking toward the storage house, forcing Dawn to run after him. She finally caught his arm again, only a few feet away from the house's back porch.  
  
"You need to talk to someone, Xander."  
  
"I'm FINE, Dawn."  
  
Dawn ignored him. "Even if it isn't a real doctor. Just, talk to me, maybe? Tell me about the dreams, or about what happened. You can't keep pretending it didn't."  
  
Xander seemed to deflate. "Okay. I–the next time I dream, I'll tell you about it, I promise. But this isn't about what Caleb did. I know I saw that girl. Not once, but twice. And both times she disappeared when she realized I saw her."  
  
Dawn sighed. "Okay. I'll start looking stuff up when we get back to the hotel." Dawn nodded toward the porch in front of them. "But right now, we've got a spooked slayer to deal with. We help Foresta, and then we look into your mysterious disappearing girl. Deal?"  
  
Xander smiled, relieved. "Deal." He stepped up to the back door of the storage house and knocked. It was answered almost immediately by a flustered looking Foresta, her hair sticking out slightly to the sides. She had sneakers on, and a jacket thrown over her flannel pajamas.  
  
"Oh thank god, you're here." Foresta stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her. "The lights went off, and the alarm stopped a little bit after I called you. I need to go over there, make sure that everything is okay, but I didn't want to go alone." She smiled a little sheepishly. "Maybe I'm some kind of super hero, but I'm not used to this stuff, you know?"  
  
Xander smiled at her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. No one but the old watcher's council ever said that the Slayer had to do everything alone. Let's go find ourselves a ghost, shall we?"  
  
Foresta blushed, then nodded. Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, then let the air out in a whoosh. "Right. Let's."  
  
They searched the whole house, but couldn't find anything out of place. As they finished checking the third floor, Foresta seemed to grow more and more embarrassed.  
  
"God, looks like I was imagining things." She punched Xander lightly in the shoulder. "This is your fault, you know, telling me that something spooky was going to happen."  
  
Xander shrugged, smiling. "Well, usually when you bring stuff like that up, it does. Not my fault that your imagination decided to fill in the gaps,"  
  
She giggled slightly. "I, um, have been known to occasionally freak myself out."  
  
Dawn smiled at the way the two were gently flirting with each other. She suspected that a girlfriend was exactly what Xander needed to get his mind off his troubles. Foresta was quirky enough to be Xander's type, without the abrupt, tactless way of speaking that made Anya so unique. They started back down the stairs.   
  
Foresta wanted to take one last look at the wedding dress exhibit, to make sure nothing had gone wrong. They'd gotten a lot of work done that day, and she didn't look forward to having to redo any of it.  
  
The three split up into opposite corners of the room, looking over the day's work. Foresta was relaxing more and more as she looked, and she began casting glances back at Xander, in the opposite corner, more often than she was actually looking at the exhibit. Xander caught almost of all of them, as he was finding himself hard pressed to stop looking back at her. He was pretty sure Dawn would be giving him merry hell about it for the rest of their time in Rockville, but couldn't bring himself to care. He liked Foresta, more than a lot.  
  
"Um, guys?" Dawn stood in the corner opposite of the door, staring at the painting over the fireplace. She paced back over to the door, her eyes never leaving the painting's. "The painting is, um, watching me now."  
  
"What?!" Foresta's gaze jerked upward toward the painting, as did Xander's. Sure enough, its eyes were focused. "That's impossible," She reached up to touch the frame. As her fingers made contact, a loud bonging sound echoed through the house, causing her to jump.  
  
Xander's eyes snapped up toward the door at the noise, before he recognized it. "Just the clock." He relaxed slightly.  
  
Foresta's shoulders remained tight. "Yeah," Her jaw was clenched over her words. "But that clock has been broken for twenty years."  
  
Xander shot her a look, but a flash of white out of the corner of his eyes caused him to turn back to the door again.  
  
Dawn stared wide eyed back at him, but he wasn't watching her. He was watching the pale figure standing in the darkened hallway just behind her. A figure of a woman in a white dress, her hair pulled tightly back from her forehead.  
  
"Er." His voice was soft, deeper than normal. "Foresta?" The young woman looked up at him, her face still startled from the combined shock of the painting and the clock. Xander gestured vaguely at the door and the woman in white. "Meet Foresta."  
  
Tbc.... 


	27. Foresta part 3

Addendum to the author's note: Actually, I don't really have much to say. Just seemed like tradition.  
  
But while I'm here, I'll just let you all know that though it didn't win, "Roads Less Traveled" DID get nominated for the Walk With Heroes awards! Wheeeeee! Thanks for anyone who voted, and thanks for all you feedbackers, you all rock my world so hardcore.  
  
In other news, I got bored and blocked (in a writerly kind of way) and so set about making some title images for each of the stories in RLT. So if you head your way down to , you can check those out.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 7: Foresta  
  
Part three  
  
Down in the stairwell, the old broken grandfather clock continued to chime. In the exhibit room, time seemed to almost stand still, as Foresta stared, open mouthed, at her ghostly namesake, and Dawn and Xander watched Foresta.  
  
The ghost hovered in the doorway, not seeming to be looking at any of them. As the clock completed its twelfth chime, she jerked back into motion, fleeing toward the neighboring bedroom. Dawn and Xander immediately followed after it, while Foresta moved more hesitantly.  
  
The ghost swept through the bedroom to a doorway on the opposite side, down a couple steps, and then into the smaller, back hallway, toward the slave quarters. She drifted through the velvet rope that blocked the entrance to the tiny room, through the black stuffed manikin at the spinning wheel, then finally stopped by the small fireplace, staring at the wall.  
  
Dawn, in the lead, leaped over the barrier and skidded to a stop at the spinning wheel, leaving Xander and Foresta to slam lightly into her. Xander mentally rolled his eyes for a moment at the completely Scooby Doo-y accident, then stepped forward to stand at Dawn's side, his hand seeking out Foresta's.  
  
"What do we do now?" Foresta leaned in close to Xander, squeezing his hand. "Perform an exorcism?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "That's too dangerous without proper training. We need to figure out what her pattern is. Usually ghosts relive the moment of their death, trying to resolve whatever problem is keeping them from rest."  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"Sometimes they need forgiveness, or to avenge their killer. We'll need more information on her."  
  
"There isn't any. Just the portrait, a wedding announcement, and stories people tell."  
  
"That. . . might make things more difficult."  
  
"Are we in any danger?"  
  
Dawn glanced quickly toward the frightened slayer, and smiled stiffly. "Probably not? She hasn't been said to have any violent tendencies, has she?"  
  
Foresta shrugged.  
  
Xander frowned. "She has?"  
  
"Um, no, but I was afraid saying that would jinx us again."  
  
As though she'd heard them, the ghost turned back toward the doorway. All three of them stiffened, and moved into battle positions. For Foresta, this meant bending her knees and gripping Xander's arm in an effort not to fall over.  
  
Xander winced. Foresta obviously wasn't used to her slayer strength yet. He was definitely going to be bruised.  
  
The ghost's mouth moved in a silent denial, and her hand raised to her chest. She seemed to gag for a moment, then faded from sight. Foresta's grip relaxed, and Xander rubbed his arm.  
  
"Oh." Foresta blushed. "Sorry about that."  
  
"I've had worse." Xander walked to the fireplace, running his hand over the wall where Foresta had been peering. "This was the slaves' room?"  
  
"Servants', after the abolition."  
  
"Why would Foresta come here?"  
  
The slayer shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she was running away from something?"  
  
"Or to something," Dawn moved to stand next to Xander. "What's on the other side of this wall?"  
  
Foresta shrugged. "The outside, I think. We're on the second floor, I'm not sure of how the rooms fit together."  
  
Xander peered closer at the wall. "Do you have a flashlight?"  
  
Foresta nodded. "In my house. But there might be one downstairs." She turned toward the door. "I'll go get it."  
  
"I'll go with you." Dawn followed Foresta toward the door. "You probably shouldn't be wandering around alone."  
  
Foresta paused. "But what about Xander?" She turned to him. "You're going to stay up here, after that?"  
  
Xander shrugged. "I've handled ghosts before," He puffed his chest in almost-real bravado. "This one hasn't tried to yank me into a locker or shoot Dawn, so I think I'm probably safe." He smiled softly at Foresta. "But you're creeped out. Dawn's right, you probably shouldn't wander around alone."  
  
Foresta's eyes narrowed. "I'm a slayer, right? That means I'm supposed to be able to handle this."  
  
"And I'm sure you can." Xander raised his hands. "It's up to you, I could probably use Dawn's help checking this wall."  
  
"Right then." Foresta turned and stalked out of the room.  
  
"Oooooh," Dawn smiled. "Faux pas. Made her feel like a swooning lady."  
  
Xander grimaced. "She's new to this. I didn't mean to imply she wasn't an independent woman."  
  
"Well, I'm going to have to officially revoke your status as a lady killer." Dawn tapped lightly on the wall. "What are we looking for?"  
  
"I don't know. Anything." Xander ran his hands over the spot where the ghost had been looking again. "The texture of the paint changes here, like it was redone at some point. In Buffy's house, I'd say that meant someone put a fist through the wall, and I had to spackle it. But I'm pretty sure this house predates spackle."  
  
Dawn tapped again, her knuckles echoing a solid clack against the wood. She kept tapping, letting her hand drift closer and closer to where Xander's rested. Xander lifted his hand, and Dawn's knuckles thunked down on the spot.  
  
They exchanged a look.   
  
"Well, it's definitely hollow, here. . . ." Xander started tapping to the other side of the spot, making a mental note of where the hollow sound gave way to wood again. He tapped up and down. "About a foot and a half square." He tapped the wall near the window, picking new spots at random. "This isn't drywall, either. It's mostly solid wood."  
  
"Secret compartment?"  
  
"Wouldn't surprise me."  
  
Light suddenly slammed into Xander's eyes as Foresta clicked on the flashlight. "Found it!"  
  
"Oh, good." Xander grimaced, shielding her eyes. "Come shine it on the wall over here."  
  
Foresta marched over, a smug look on her face. "You two okay up here alone?"  
  
"Well, Xander got a little weepy, but. . . ." Dawn smiled. "We're fine. No more ghosts."  
  
Foresta relaxed infinitesimally. "Well, good then." She aimed the flashlight at the wall, where Xander was gesturing. He outlined the hollow space with his finger, then directed her to aim it from an angle. He frowned, then indicated the opposite angle.  
  
A tiny crack became visible.  
  
"Here we go." Xander pressed on the wall, looking for the catch. "You guys ever find any secret hiding places in here?"  
  
"We haven't really looked, as far as I know." Foresta frowned. "You think that's what the ghost was looking for?"  
  
"I think we found one, anyway." Xander continued pressing for a moment. "Dawn, check the fireplace. See if the catch is over there somewhere."  
  
Dawn moved to obey.  
  
Foresta, not having a duty at the moment, leaned against the wall next to the window, occasionally flicking the flashlight to the doorway as she kept an eye out for spooks. She rested her head against the wall, then began tapping her fingers in a nervous rhythm against it.  
  
Her index finger met with something soft.  
  
A foot and a half square panel opened up with a creak of its hidden hinges, catching Xander in the temple.  
  
"Ow," He stepped back, then peered into the small square of darkness. "There's something in there." He reached out for the small shape.  
  
Foresta grabbed his hand. "Don't."  
  
"I'm sure it's fine. I think she wanted us to find it."  
  
"Be that as it may," Foresta kept a hold of his hand. "When is the last time you washed your hands?"  
  
"Um, after dinner?"  
  
Foresta nodded. "Whatever's in there is old. I don't want your dirty hands damaging it. I just washed mine downstairs, I'LL pull it out."  
  
Xander stepped back. "By all means."  
  
Foresta nodded, again, took a deep breath, and reached into the hole. She pulled out a small leather journal. She frowned.  
  
"Fine, not that old, then." She opened the book delicately, scanning the first page. Her eyes widened. "Oh. 1843." She turned the book over in her hands. "This is remarkably well-preserved, I wouldn't have said it was any older than about twenty years."  
  
Dawn leaned over. "Well, it doesn't smell like any of Giles' old books,"  
  
Foresta turned a few more pages. "It's definitely a journal. Looks like it might have been Foresta's father's. The dates are right, and he's talking about her getting ready for her wedding."  
  
Xander peered over her shoulder. "At least now we can get a better idea of what the ghost is doing here."  
  
Foresta nodded without looking up. "I'm going to have to read this."  
  
Dawn yawned. "You do that. I, however, want to go to bed."  
  
Foresta nodded again.  
  
"Hold on a minute," Xander peered back into the space. "There's something else in here."  
  
Foresta nodded again.  
  
"It looks like a box."  
  
Nod.  
  
Xander glanced at her. "I'll have to sully it with my dirty, oily hands."  
  
Nod.  
  
Xander shrugged. Foresta was obviously deeply absorbed in her book. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.  
  
"Oh!" Foresta started back slightly. "What?"  
  
"Something else in the hole."  
  
Foresta raised her eyebrows. She tucked the book under one arm and reached back into the space with the other. She pulled out a small, coffin-shaped wooden box, sealed with bees-wax. Dawn gently took the flashlight from her, and aimed it at the box. It had a glass window on the top of it, through which they could see a lacy, beige material.  
  
Xander blinked. "What the hell?"  
  
"It's an embalmed dress." Foresta's eyebrows drew together. She pointed to a bit of engraving. "Look, it was Foresta's. Her wedding dress."  
  
"They embalmed dresses?" Dawn's nose wrinkled. "Like they do with dead people?"  
  
"Sort of. It's a rare tradition, helps keep the dress in good condition as a keepsake. See, there's her name, and the date of her wedding."  
  
Xander looked closer. "They usually post dire warnings on embalmed dresses?" He pointed to a second engraving.  
  
"For personal safety, it is best not to open this box."  
  
Foresta shrugged. "Some of the chemicals they use can be harmful if inhaled. I didn't know they did this back then."  
  
"Maybe someone embalmed it for her later?" Dawn poked at the box.  
  
"After she died?" Xander frowned.  
  
"Who knows?"  
  
"Oh." Foresta turned the box slightly in her hands. "Crap."  
  
"What?" Xander stiffened.  
  
"I broke the seal." Foresta pointed to a small crack, where the beeswax had flaked off.   
  
Xander shivered as a small cold draft drifted through the room. "Let's, um, put that back." He took the box from Foresta's hands, holding it out at arm's length. "Just in case. We should all probably go to bed."  
  
Foresta blinked. She clutched the small journal tighter. "Yeah. Good idea."  
  
Tbc. . . .   
  
Addendum to the author's note: Yes, people really do embalm dresses, and yes, the boxes really do have warnings on them. I have no idea when this tradition might have started, but it's so bizarrely macabre that I had to include it. 


	28. Foresta part 4 this is a looong one

Addendum to the author's note: Actually, I don't really have much to say. Just seemed like tradition.  
  
But while I'm here, I'll just let you all know that though it didn't win, "Roads Less Traveled" DID get nominated for the Walk With Heroes awards! Wheeeeee! Thanks for anyone who voted, and thanks for all you feedbackers, you all rock my world so hardcore.  
  
In other news, I got bored and blocked (in a writerly kind of way) and so set about making some title images for each of the stories in RLT. So if you head your way down to , you can check those out.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 7: Foresta  
  
Part three  
  
Down in the stairwell, the old broken grandfather clock continued to chime. In the exhibit room, time seemed to almost stand still, as Foresta stared, open mouthed, at her ghostly namesake, and Dawn and Xander watched Foresta.  
  
The ghost hovered in the doorway, not seeming to be looking at any of them. As the clock completed its twelfth chime, she jerked back into motion, fleeing toward the neighboring bedroom. Dawn and Xander immediately followed after it, while Foresta moved more hesitantly.  
  
The ghost swept through the bedroom to a doorway on the opposite side, down a couple steps, and then into the smaller, back hallway, toward the slave quarters. She drifted through the velvet rope that blocked the entrance to the tiny room, through the black stuffed manikin at the spinning wheel, then finally stopped by the small fireplace, staring at the wall.  
  
Dawn, in the lead, leaped over the barrier and skidded to a stop at the spinning wheel, leaving Xander and Foresta to slam lightly into her. Xander mentally rolled his eyes for a moment at the completely Scooby Doo-y accident, then stepped forward to stand at Dawn's side, his hand seeking out Foresta's.  
  
"What do we do now?" Foresta leaned in close to Xander, squeezing his hand. "Perform an exorcism?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "That's too dangerous without proper training. We need to figure out what her pattern is. Usually ghosts relive the moment of their death, trying to resolve whatever problem is keeping them from rest."  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"Sometimes they need forgiveness, or to avenge their killer. We'll need more information on her."  
  
"There isn't any. Just the portrait, a wedding announcement, and stories people tell."  
  
"That. . . might make things more difficult."  
  
"Are we in any danger?"  
  
Dawn glanced quickly toward the frightened slayer, and smiled stiffly. "Probably not? She hasn't been said to have any violent tendencies, has she?"  
  
Foresta shrugged.  
  
Xander frowned. "She has?"  
  
"Um, no, but I was afraid saying that would jinx us again."  
  
As though she'd heard them, the ghost turned back toward the doorway. All three of them stiffened, and moved into battle positions. For Foresta, this meant bending her knees and gripping Xander's arm in an effort not to fall over.  
  
Xander winced. Foresta obviously wasn't used to her slayer strength yet. He was definitely going to be bruised.  
  
The ghost's mouth moved in a silent denial, and her hand raised to her chest. She seemed to gag for a moment, then faded from sight. Foresta's grip relaxed, and Xander rubbed his arm.  
  
"Oh." Foresta blushed. "Sorry about that."  
  
"I've had worse." Xander walked to the fireplace, running his hand over the wall where Foresta had been peering. "This was the slaves' room?"  
  
"Servants', after the abolition."  
  
"Why would Foresta come here?"  
  
The slayer shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she was running away from something?"  
  
"Or to something," Dawn moved to stand next to Xander. "What's on the other side of this wall?"  
  
Foresta shrugged. "The outside, I think. We're on the second floor, I'm not sure of how the rooms fit together."  
  
Xander peered closer at the wall. "Do you have a flashlight?"  
  
Foresta nodded. "In my house. But there might be one downstairs." She turned toward the door. "I'll go get it."  
  
"I'll go with you." Dawn followed Foresta toward the door. "You probably shouldn't be wandering around alone."  
  
Foresta paused. "But what about Xander?" She turned to him. "You're going to stay up here, after that?"  
  
Xander shrugged. "I've handled ghosts before," He puffed his chest in almost-real bravado. "This one hasn't tried to yank me into a locker or shoot Dawn, so I think I'm probably safe." He smiled softly at Foresta. "But you're creeped out. Dawn's right, you probably shouldn't wander around alone."  
  
Foresta's eyes narrowed. "I'm a slayer, right? That means I'm supposed to be able to handle this."  
  
"And I'm sure you can." Xander raised his hands. "It's up to you, I could probably use Dawn's help checking this wall."  
  
"Right then." Foresta turned and stalked out of the room.  
  
"Oooooh," Dawn smiled. "Faux pas. Made her feel like a swooning lady."  
  
Xander grimaced. "She's new to this. I didn't mean to imply she wasn't an independent woman."  
  
"Well, I'm going to have to officially revoke your status as a lady killer." Dawn tapped lightly on the wall. "What are we looking for?"  
  
"I don't know. Anything." Xander ran his hands over the spot where the ghost had been looking again. "The texture of the paint changes here, like it was redone at some point. In Buffy's house, I'd say that meant someone put a fist through the wall, and I had to spackle it. But I'm pretty sure this house predates spackle."  
  
Dawn tapped again, her knuckles echoing a solid clack against the wood. She kept tapping, letting her hand drift closer and closer to where Xander's rested. Xander lifted his hand, and Dawn's knuckles thunked down on the spot.  
  
They exchanged a look.   
  
"Well, it's definitely hollow, here. . . ." Xander started tapping to the other side of the spot, making a mental note of where the hollow sound gave way to wood again. He tapped up and down. "About a foot and a half square." He tapped the wall near the window, picking new spots at random. "This isn't drywall, either. It's mostly solid wood."  
  
"Secret compartment?"  
  
"Wouldn't surprise me."  
  
Light suddenly slammed into Xander's eyes as Foresta clicked on the flashlight. "Found it!"  
  
"Oh, good." Xander grimaced, shielding her eyes. "Come shine it on the wall over here."  
  
Foresta marched over, a smug look on her face. "You two okay up here alone?"  
  
"Well, Xander got a little weepy, but. . . ." Dawn smiled. "We're fine. No more ghosts."  
  
Foresta relaxed infinitesimally. "Well, good then." She aimed the flashlight at the wall, where Xander was gesturing. He outlined the hollow space with his finger, then directed her to aim it from an angle. He frowned, then indicated the opposite angle.  
  
A tiny crack became visible.  
  
"Here we go." Xander pressed on the wall, looking for the catch. "You guys ever find any secret hiding places in here?"  
  
"We haven't really looked, as far as I know." Foresta frowned. "You think that's what the ghost was looking for?"  
  
"I think we found one, anyway." Xander continued pressing for a moment. "Dawn, check the fireplace. See if the catch is over there somewhere."  
  
Dawn moved to obey.  
  
Foresta, not having a duty at the moment, leaned against the wall next to the window, occasionally flicking the flashlight to the doorway as she kept an eye out for spooks. She rested her head against the wall, then began tapping her fingers in a nervous rhythm against it.  
  
Her index finger met with something soft.  
  
A foot and a half square panel opened up with a creak of its hidden hinges, catching Xander in the temple.  
  
"Ow," He stepped back, then peered into the small square of darkness. "There's something in there." He reached out for the small shape.  
  
Foresta grabbed his hand. "Don't."  
  
"I'm sure it's fine. I think she wanted us to find it."  
  
"Be that as it may," Foresta kept a hold of his hand. "When is the last time you washed your hands?"  
  
"Um, after dinner?"  
  
Foresta nodded. "Whatever's in there is old. I don't want your dirty hands damaging it. I just washed mine downstairs, I'LL pull it out."  
  
Xander stepped back. "By all means."  
  
Foresta nodded, again, took a deep breath, and reached into the hole. She pulled out a small leather journal. She frowned.  
  
"Fine, not that old, then." She opened the book delicately, scanning the first page. Her eyes widened. "Oh. 1843." She turned the book over in her hands. "This is remarkably well-preserved, I wouldn't have said it was any older than about twenty years."  
  
Dawn leaned over. "Well, it doesn't smell like any of Giles' old books,"  
  
Foresta turned a few more pages. "It's definitely a journal. Looks like it might have been Foresta's father's. The dates are right, and he's talking about her getting ready for her wedding."  
  
Xander peered over her shoulder. "At least now we can get a better idea of what the ghost is doing here."  
  
Foresta nodded without looking up. "I'm going to have to read this."  
  
Dawn yawned. "You do that. I, however, want to go to bed."  
  
Foresta nodded again.  
  
"Hold on a minute," Xander peered back into the space. "There's something else in here."  
  
Foresta nodded again.  
  
"It looks like a box."  
  
Nod.  
  
Xander glanced at her. "I'll have to sully it with my dirty, oily hands."  
  
Nod.  
  
Xander shrugged. Foresta was obviously deeply absorbed in her book. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.  
  
"Oh!" Foresta started back slightly. "What?"  
  
"Something else in the hole."  
  
Foresta raised her eyebrows. She tucked the book under one arm and reached back into the space with the other. She pulled out a small, coffin-shaped wooden box, sealed with bees-wax. Dawn gently took the flashlight from her, and aimed it at the box. It had a glass window on the top of it, through which they could see a lacy, beige material.  
  
Xander blinked. "What the hell?"  
  
"It's an embalmed dress." Foresta's eyebrows drew together. She pointed to a bit of engraving. "Look, it was Foresta's. Her wedding dress."  
  
"They embalmed dresses?" Dawn's nose wrinkled. "Like they do with dead people?"  
  
"Sort of. It's a rare tradition, helps keep the dress in good condition as a keepsake. See, there's her name, and the date of her wedding."  
  
Xander looked closer. "They usually post dire warnings on embalmed dresses?" He pointed to a second engraving.  
  
"For personal safety, it is best not to open this box."  
  
Foresta shrugged. "Some of the chemicals they use can be harmful if inhaled. I didn't know they did this back then."  
  
"Maybe someone embalmed it for her later?" Dawn poked at the box.  
  
"After she died?" Xander frowned.  
  
"Who knows?"  
  
"Oh." Foresta turned the box slightly in her hands. "Crap."  
  
"What?" Xander stiffened.  
  
"I broke the seal." Foresta pointed to a small crack, where the beeswax had flaked off.   
  
Xander shivered as a small cold draft drifted through the room. "Let's, um, put that back." He took the box from Foresta's hands, holding it out at arm's length. "Just in case. We should all probably go to bed."  
  
Foresta blinked. She clutched the small journal tighter. "Yeah. Good idea."  
  
Tbc. . . .   
  
Addendum to the author's note: Yes, people really do embalm dresses, and yes, the boxes really do have warnings on them. I have no idea when this tradition might have started, but it's so bizarrely macabre that I had to include it.  
  
Addendum to the author's note: Yeah, so it's been like (er, let's see....), fourteen years since I've been to the Stonestreet Doctor's Office exhibit at the Montgomery County Historical Society. The description of it here is based on my fourth grade memory of it, and a whole heck of a lot of artistic licence. Just so you know.  
  
I struggled a bit with what I wanted to happen by this point in the story. I've got a couple threads going here, the ever-present Xander/Dawn friendship, the growing Xander/Foresta flirting, and the ghost. And, of course, though I knew when I started writing where I wanted this story to go, the characters are saying "nope", so I'm having to wing it again. We'll see where we end up.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 7: Foresta  
  
Part four  
  
Xander held the door to the Beall-Dawson house open for Foresta. "Are you sure you're going to be okay alone tonight?"  
  
"Er, yeah." Foresta seemed torn between being indignant that Xander was treating her like she was fragile, and being flattered that he was treating her like a lady. "You said she wasn't violent, right?"  
  
"Of course not." Xander smiled reassuringly at her. Then he grimaced. "Yet. It's hard to tell with ghosts, you never know what's going to set them off. "You'll call us if anything out of the ordinary happens?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Good." Xander and Foresta stood staring at each other awkwardly for a moment longer. Dawn, who was hanging back toward the parking lot, cleared her throat. "Well. Good-night."  
  
Foresta leaned forward. "Yeah. Good-night."  
  
They stared at each other again. Xander leaned forward. Foresta grabbed his hand.  
  
Dawn tripped over a crack in the sidewalk on her way to the car.  
  
Xander jerked back about an inch. "Yeah."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Foresta turned and walked back toward her house. Xander hesitated, still staring at the spot where she'd been, then turned back toward Dawn, who hit him in the shoulder.  
  
"You totally should have kissed her."  
  
Xander groaned. "What does it matter to you?"  
  
"We're looking for slayers. Therefore girls. Therefore not love interests for me. Therefore, I must live vicariously through you. Plus, we know for sure she's not a demon!"  
  
"Well, there is that. . . ." Xander grinned. "She is–"  
  
Dawn's phone rang. She flipped it open, then turned to look back toward the Beall-Dawson house. Xander turned.  
  
Foresta, stopped in the path halfway back to her house, waved sheepishly and pointed to the door to the Stonestreet Doctor's Exhibit. The open door to the exhibit.  
  
"Does this count as something out of the ordinary?"   
  
Fortunately, Foresta had not yet let go of her flashlight. She aimed it into the darkened doctor's office, the beam shimmering up and down as her hand shook. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it.  
  
Xander straightened his shoulders, his hand clenching around the battle axe he'd grabbed from the car. "I'll go in first, just in case. It might just be an ordinary burglar."  
  
"But it probably isn't," Dawn clutched at a small charm around her neck. Xander wore one too, and they'd given one to Foresta. "Be careful."  
  
"Alright." Xander hovered on the door step a moment longer. He glanced at Foresta. "Did you put the charm on?"  
  
Foresta nodded. "Will it really keep away the ghosts?"  
  
"Um, maybe." Xander shrugged. "It's a basic protection charm, from magic mostly, but it SHOULD work on ghosts, too. At least, that's what they tell me."  
  
"You're a real optimist, aren't you."  
  
"Actually, yes." Xander stepped forward. "Stick close. . . ." He edged his way into the small front office. "There's no telling what might happen–"  
  
As soon as both his feet crossed the threshold, he was jerked forward to the center of the room. He could hear Dawn and Foresta calling to him as the flashlight went out, and the door slammed shut.  
  
"Crap!" Xander moved back to the door, trying the handle. "Dawn! Foresta!"  
  
"Xander!" The door shuddered. "Xander, it's locked!"  
  
"I know!" Xander continued cursing to himself as he shoved his shoulder into the door, then belatedly remembered that it opened inward. "I'm going to have to break it down!"  
  
"That's an antique door!"   
  
"Priorities!" Xander raised his axe. "Back up!"  
  
The door stopped shuddering as Xander shouldered the axe, preparing to swing. He was jerked backward again, and the axe slid across the wooden floor out of arm's reach.   
  
Xander blinked into the darkness. "Crap!"  
  
"Oh god," Dawn's voice was low, but broke slightly as she yelled through the door. "Xander, what happened?"  
  
"I lost the axe." Xander squinted his eyes, but couldn't make out more than the vague shape of a table somewhere in front of him. "I'm thinking we can definitely rule out the ordinary burglar."  
  
Silence came from the other side of the door.   
  
"Um, Dawn?!"  
  
No one answered. Xander shoved himself to his feet and ran at the door. Something blocked him about a foot away from it, slamming him onto his back. "Dawn!"  
  
"Xander!"  
  
Xander pushed himself up. Dawn sounded scared. Not just "oh great, here we go again," scared, but "the Hellmouth is open, Angel is bad again, demons are taking over the government and the First ate my homework" scared. He had to get back out there.   
  
As he reached his feet, something grabbed onto his shirt, dragging him backward into a rickety chair. He heard the sound of something dragging across the surface of the table, and felt something bite into his leg.  
  
He caught a glimpse of a decaying, antique blade, then threw his head back and screamed.  
  
Outside the doctor's office, Foresta was having a panic attack. Dawn held her shoulders, trying to think of something reassuring to say.   
  
She heard something thump inside, then Xander's curse. "Oh god, Xander, what happened?"  
  
"I lost the axe!" More shuffling around inside. Dawn glanced around for something she could use on the door. She turned to run for the car, and the morningstar of needless bloodshed, when Foresta's panic attack turned into a coughing fit.  
  
"Foresta?"  
  
The slayer clutched at her throat, doubling over. Dawn watched in horror as something pushed at the skin from the inside.  
  
"Xander!"  
  
Foresta dropped to the ground, her mouth falling open as she gagged. A very long, very hairy insect leg reached out of her mouth.  
  
Dawn stepped back, her hand going to her charm again.  
  
And Xander started to scream.  
  
"Shit!" Dawn grabbed Foresta's arm as an enormous tarantula began to crawl out of her mouth. "Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit!" The spider leaped to the ground, crawling toward her. "Ew!" Dawn stopped down on it, leaving a messy green smear across the sidewalk.  
  
"Oh my god." Foresta stared at the smear, her voice hoarse. She didn't even seem to hear the shouting from inside the doctor's office. "Oh my god." Her eyes were wide and glassy. "Oh my god, we're going to die."  
  
"We're not going to die." Dawn pulled out her cellphone, hitting the speed dial for the Helsing Institute. "We're going to get help, we're going to stop the ghost, and we're going to rescue Xander. Then we're going to finish the exhibit."  
  
"I don't want to be a slayer." Foresta began rocking back and forth, her hand clutched around the old journal. "I don't wanna fight the darkness. I'm an anthropologist, not a ghostbuster! I don't want to be a slayer anymore!" She grabbed Dawn's arm. "Take it back! Damn it, take it all back!"  
  
"I can't!" Dawn's breath hissed as she listened to the ringing of the Institute phone. "You're a slayer. You CAN handle this."  
  
"No, I can't–"  
  
Xander's screams cut short, and Dawn swallowed.  
  
"Helsing Institute, this is Rona,"  
  
"Rona!" Dawn pressed the phone tighter against her ear. "This is Dawn. I need to talk to Giles NOW."  
  
"Got it!" The phone went silent.  
  
Foresta began to shiver and started coughing again.  
  
"Come on, come on, come on,"  
  
"Dawn!"  
  
Dawn's shoulders relaxed. "Giles! Thank god!"  
  
"What the hell is going on, Dawn? What's happened?"  
  
"We're in Rockville. Um, Maryland. There's a ghost. Maybe more than one. It's locked Xander in a doctor's office, and our slayer is coughing up spiders."  
  
"Bloody–" She heard Giles take a breath. "Okay. Calm down. Do you have the charms we gave you?"  
  
"Yes, and they're doing JACKSHIT, Giles. Xander was screaming!"  
  
"Good lord, is he okay?"  
  
"I DON'T KNOW, HE'S LOCKED IN A DOCTOR'S OFFICE!"  
  
"Okay, tell me what you know about this ghost."  
  
Dawn related all that they had found out about Foresta's namesake, bouncing on her toes as Foresta started to gasp for breath. She glanced repeatedly at the unchanging door to the doctor's exhibit.  
  
"Do you have any more information?"  
  
"If I did I would have told you already. That's it, wedding, TB, old dress, dead. Oh, and the journal."  
  
"You have her journal?"  
  
"Her dad's. Here," Dawn knelt down in front of Foresta, who seemed to be recovering slightly. She noticed blood on the slayer's lips and winced. "Foresta, I need the journal."  
  
"We're gonna die,"  
  
"NO, we're NOT. Not if you give me the journal."  
  
Foresta handed her the book.  
  
"Giles, Foresta's not good. She's coughing up blood, I don't think she can breath right. And. . . ." Tears stung her eyes. "And I don't know if Xander's even alive."  
  
Giles took a deep breath. "I'm certain he's fine, Dawn. He's been through worse than this." He paused, and she pictured him cleaning the glasses he no longer wore. It made her feel slightly better. "Do you have the book?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"See if you can find the entry about the girl's death."  
  
Dawn flipped the pages rapidly. Some of them seemed to stick together, so she picked at them with her fingernail, terrified that she'd somehow miss the information they needed. One of the entries caught her eye.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Dawn blinked, then realized she'd let out a breath. "There's something in here about the doctor the girl was seeing. A Dr. Stonestreet. Giles, that's the name of the doctor's exhibit."  
  
"What does it say?"  
  
"It says that the doctor thinks Foresta has 'consumption'. Guess that wasn't so–wait, here! The doctor' assistant! He was in love with Foresta!"  
  
"He was her fiancé?"  
  
"No, her fiance was a soldier. Wait, do you think–"  
  
"While tuberculosis is a lingering, horrible way to die, I don't believe it would cause a haunting of this caliber. Could it be she was poisoned?"  
  
"Stonestreet was the family doctor. You think he killed her for marrying someone else?"  
  
"It wouldn't surprise me. Quickly now, find the entry for her death."  
  
Dawn went back to flipping through the book. Foresta was lying on her side now, gagging softly. The doctor's office remained silent.  
  
"Oh, crap, I went too far." Dawn stared down at the last page. "Wait. . . . Her fiance was a soldier."  
  
"Yes, you said that."  
  
"No, but he was in the war. The civil war, I guess. Or battles, or something. He stayed close to the family after Foresta died. Wait, the date's too early."  
  
"What does it say, Dawn?"  
  
"The fiance. He was shot in the leg. The assistant was the only one here to take care of him, Dr. Stonestreet was . . . whatever the hell Foresta's dad means by 'indisposed'. . . . Giles, Victorians were almost as stuffy as British people!"  
  
"I'm sure you realize how that statement–"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, the assistant, he. . . . Oh. He had to cut of the fiance's leg. Jesus."  
  
"Medical practices were not nearly as advanced, then, Dawn,"  
  
"I know, I know, but do you think he did that because he was still mad about the fiance winning Foresta?"  
  
"I'm sure I don't know. The plot does seem to be thickening, though."  
  
"Right." Dawn glanced down at Foresta. "I'm looking Giles, but what can we do NOW? Foresta and Xander are in trouble!"  
  
"Yes, of course. You'll have to exorcize the spirit."  
  
"We are WAY too close to the Exorcist Steps for me to feel comfortable doing that."  
  
"That's ridiculous. While exorcisms in the catholic tradition have a tendency to be brutal, there are many pagan methods that are simpler. And the Exorcist was just a movie."  
  
"Based on a true story. That happened in this area."  
  
"Dawn,"  
  
Foresta stopped breathing.  
  
"Giles, no time. Hold on," Dawn dropped the phone into the grass, lunging for the fallen slayer. She rolled her over onto her back, her fingers pressing into the woman's neck. A thin pulse pressed against her fingertips. "Oh thank god." She tilted Foresta's hair back and lifted her jaw. "I hope you know, I was rather thinking Xander would be kissing you, NOT me."  
  
As Dawn began artificial respiration, she could hear Giles calling to her over the connection.   
  
"You need candles! And Earth power symbol! The charm should work!"  
  
Dawn sat back up, grabbing at the phone. "How about road flares?!" She leaned over the slayer again, praying she'd start to breathe soon. Tears ran freely down her face.   
  
"Is that all you have?! I thought we sent you two out well prepared. . . ."  
  
"Giles!"  
  
"Light the candles, flares, whatever, and say 'spirit, I bid thee to move from this plane. I bid thee back to the air. By the power of the Earth and Air, I bid thee leave.' Repeat this chant, as many times as you need to. You, er, should know if it works."  
  
"Great." Dawn sat back up. Her words were breathy as she gasped. "How long can the human brain survive without oxygen?"  
  
"Oh dear."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"The chant, Dawn. Whatever's happened should be undone once the spirit is gone. Just repeat the chant."  
  
Dawn nodded. She closed the phone and ran for the car.  
  
Xander bit down on his lip hard enough to make it bleed. The knife pressed and slid against his jeans, ripping apart the tough fibers and slashing at his skin. He grabbed at it, trying to force it away from his body, and something slammed into his head.  
  
"Hold still,"  
  
The voice was deep and graveled. It echoed through the room, impossible to locate.  
  
"Fuck you," Xander shoved at the blade again. Something wrapped around his hands and squeezed. He gasped.  
  
"This surgery is very delicate, Michael."  
  
"I'm NOT Michael!" Xander shook his head. The blade and the force on his hands pressed down harder. "Fine, Michael, whatever, what about anaesthesia?"  
  
"I have to get the bullet out before it poisons your blood, Michael." Something leather pressed against Xander's lips. "This will keep you from biting your tongue."  
  
"Or screaming?" Xander swung his head away from the leather strap, but it followed him. He clamped his bleeding lips shut.  
  
"You would dishonor Foresta like that?" The voice's anger grew. "You filthy pig. She was a treasure!"  
  
Xander whimpered as the blade broke through the last of the denim over his thigh and bit deeper into his leg. "Foresta?! Dawn!" The leather strap slid into his mouth, pressing his head back. Xander screamed into it.  
  
"I loved her, Michael. You know that." The blade lifted. "Perhaps it is time we two had a talk."  
  
Xander grunted. His eyes rolled as he searched the room.  
  
"You are a cad, Michael, and you're an idiot. She loved you, but you never deserved it."  
  
The blood soaked into Xander's jeans and ran in rivulets down his leg. Xander screamed into the gag as the blade returned. He could feel bits of rust flaking off into his muscles.  
  
"We were friends, weren't we. We were friends until you were rejected from Georgetown. Until you joined the army. You courted Foresta to take her from me. Admit it!"  
  
The blade jerked, and Xander gasped.  
  
"We knew she was sick. We told you to postpone the wedding, that she needed to go to a hospital. But you insisted. And she loved you, so she agreed."  
  
The blade lifted again, briefly, then thrust in, striking the bone. "You killed her, Michael!"  
  
Xander's breath tore through his flaring nostrils. He grabbed at the knife, ignoring the increasing pressure.  
  
"You killed her!"  
  
A stiff wind thrust itself through the office. The pressure vanished from his hands, and Xander ripped the blade away from his leg, spitting out the leather strap. He clutched at the wound, spitting blood as he tried to gather his breath to talk.  
  
"I'm not Michael."  
  
The spirit was silent. The wind increased.  
  
"I'm not Michael. Michael has been dead for more than a century. So have you."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"No."  
  
The wind blew harder, and Xander could just make out the sound of Dawn's voice rising on it. He caught a few of the words, shaking his head as he clutched at his leg harder.  
  
"I bid thee. . . ." He tried to stand, gazing into the darkness. He gasped as pain shot through his leg, sending him back to the chair. "I bid thee. . . ."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"I BID THEE. . . ."  
  
"NO! YOU KILLED HER, YOU BASTARD, YOU KILLED–"  
  
"I BID THEE" Xander's voice joined with Dawn's which was reaching a crescendo with the wind "LEAVE!!!"  
  
A soft howl swept into the small space as the wind struck Xander with a solid force, sending him and the chair to the floor. Xander clenched his eyes shut and gripped his leg. He shouted into the gale, but it took his words away with it. The howl increased in volume. Xander repeated the four words to himself over and over again, his hands finally leaving his leg to clutch at his ears as the howl and the wind shook the building. The wood floor heaved three times, then everything fell still.  
  
The flashlight, lying by the door, came back on with a hum, shining directly into Xander's eyes. He took a shaky breath, locating the battle axe. He crawled toward it, favoring his aching leg, only to pause as he realized the gaping wound was gone. The hole in his jeans showed clean, unbroken skin, though blood still stained his pant leg.  
  
He wiped at his mouth, then winced. His lip was still split. He staggered to his feet, leaning on the axe handle.  
  
All of the exhibit cases, showing aged, violent looking doctor's tools, were locked and undisturbed. The rusted knife was nowhere to be seen. Xander tensed as the door slammed open.  
  
"Xander!" Dawn, her hair hanging into her eyes, her shirt sweat stained, leaned heavily against the doorframe. "Xander, I need your help!"  
  
Xander stumbled forward.  
  
Foresta had awoken again by the time the emergency services arrived. She agreed readily with Xander and Dawn's story about the burglar in the exhibit ("He was average height really." "Build? Mediumish." "We couldn't see his face. I tackled him, ripped my jeans. I think the blood must have been his. . . . He was limping. . . ."), and her own fainting spell. The paramedics loaded the shaky, pale slayer into the ambulance as the police questioned Xander and Dawn. Finally, they let them go to see their friend at Shady Grove hospital.  
  
"My dad's family has a history of heart disease," Foresta leaned against the pillows, looking much calmer. They're attributing the cardiac arrest to that." She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. . . . I really don't think I'm ready to be a slayer."  
  
Xander opened his mouth to protest, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in his lower lip. Dawn spoke before he could recover.  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
Foresta blushed.  
  
"But that's why we have the Helsing Institute. Giles and Buffy can help you. We've been doing this for almost eight years."  
  
Xander nodded. "She's right. If you stay here, you could get hurt again. Go to the Institute, learn how to be a real slayer, and then you can come back."  
  
Foresta opened her eyes. "So it was the doctor's assistant? But what about the ghost in the Beall-Dawson house? We saw Foresta."  
  
Dawn and Xander exchanged a look. Dawn shrugged.  
  
"I asked Giles about that while you and Xander were getting fixed up. And I read the journal. Foresta's harmless, just a restless spirit. Some ghosts just stick around." Dawn looked aside. "Um, that's not all we found. Andrew checked it out on the web. Do you know how many genealogy pages there are for that entire family?"  
  
Foresta shrugged. "They're one of the founding families of Rockville. It makes sense."  
  
"Yeah. Foresta had a niece, also named Foresta. She died when she was two." Dawn took a deep breath. "Her great-grandmother was a Foresta. She died in childbirth, her second kid. Three generations ago, the family had another Foresta. She died in a car crash when she was eight."  
  
Foresta paled. "What are you saying?"  
  
Dawn closed her eyes. "We couldn't find a single Foresta in that family that didn't die young." She held up the journal. "Her father had a theory about it. He talked to some local historians, and when that didn't turn up anything, to a local 'witch'. He thinks the name itself is cursed."  
  
"Oh god."  
  
Xander stared at Dawn, his mouth opened in horror. "But, only in that family, right?"  
  
Dawn shrugged. "It's hard to say. There's not enough information." She looked sympathetically at Foresta. "Probably though. And you're a slayer now, and if growing up with Buffy has taught me anything, its that curses were meant to be broken."  
  
Xander grimaced. "That was terrible, Dawn."  
  
She grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, it was." She turned back to Foresta. "So, will you go to Cleveland?"  
  
Foresta sighed. "I don't know. Probably. I went to school in the Midwest, maybe I can look up some of my friends."  
  
"Sounds like a plan." Xander stepped up to take her hand. "I hope I'll see you there, when I'm done finding slayers."  
  
Foresta blushed again, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good."  
  
Xander grinned. "Great! You're not a demon, right?"  
  
Dawn laughed, and Foresta grinned. "Not that I know of."  
  
"Excellent." Xander leaned down and placed a very gentle kiss on her forehead. "Sorry, you can't get more than that. My lip hurts, and the doctors said we shouldn't do anything to get your heart rate up."  
  
"No problem."  
  
They said their good-byes, and Xander and Dawn turned toward the door.   
  
"Oh, one more thing," Dawn turned in the doorway, her face betraying her lack of seriousness. "The lesson we learned tonight?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Don't name your daughter Foresta."  
  
The end  
  
to be continued in "Leeds Devil"  
  
post-fic notes: Yeah, all of the Foresta family history here is made up completely, except one thing: Foresta really did have a niece of the same name, who died at age two. The tag line is really my sister's, its what she says every time she explains the portrait.   
  
Thanks for reading. I'm on a bit of a roll, so hopefully "Leeds Devil" won't be too long in coming.  
  
Oh, and one last thing: Thanks to everyone who really did offer job advice! I'm temping now, and I have a low-paying part time gig with theater downtown, so things are looking up. Thanks again!  
  
Casix 


	29. Leeds Devil part 1

Addendum to the Disclaimer: The Leeds Devil, better known as the Jersey Devil, is one of the most famous and best researched spooky beasties out there. I first discovered it at a very young age, reading a book my older sister owned called "Monsters You've Never Heard Of". While that book is LOOOOONG out of print (and its too bad, because our copy no longer has its cover, which had one of the creepiest representations of the Jersey Devil I've ever seen), you can find info on the Jersey Devil online at (of course) weirdNJ.com.  
  
The culture of "travelers" that Nomad belongs to is also real. Very real. There are kids out there, mostly late teens, early twenties, who really live like this, every day, all over the country. They fascinate me, though I don't neccessarily agree with their politics. If you want to know more about them, feel free to email me and ask, I've been collecting information on them for a little more than two years now.  
  
Addendum to the author's note (aka, random trivia about Casix): I've wanted to do a Buffy fanfic on the Jersey Devil for several years now. Originally, I was planning on doing one for the summer after graduation, having Xander run over it with his car while driving through New Jersey. But I'm a bit of a canon whore, so when I hadn't finished it by the time the fourth season started, I scrapped it (it really wasn't very good. . . ). I even wrote a limerick to go along with the story. Which was also scrapped.  
  
Roads Less Traveled  
  
by Casix Thistlebane  
  
Story 8: Leeds Devil  
  
Part one  
  
Dawn sighed, relieved, as her cellphone rang. Anything that distracted her from the essays Wood had assigned her was a good thing, in her mind. She had really enjoyed touristing in DC the last could of days with Xander and was looking forward to a day of shopping in Georgetown, complete with a detailed map and store recommendations from the still-hospitalized Foresta. Writing an essay on the Enola Gay to go along with their trip to the Air and Space Museum was the last thing she wanted to do. She flipped the phone open and blinked at the enormous string of numbers displayed on the small screen.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Dawn? It's Willow."  
  
"Hey!" Well, that explained it. The numbers were probably country codes. "How's Europe?"  
  
"Great. And if Wood ever assigns you anything on the conflict in Northern Ireland, I now know everything you'll need. Probably more."  
  
"I'll remember that." Dawn glanced over to where Xander stretched out on his bed. "Xan's asleep, but I can wake him up if you want,"  
  
Willow sighed. "You probably should. You guys need to hit the road."  
  
"But it's our weekend off!"  
  
"Your next slayer's been on the move. She just stopped in New Jersey, but there's no telling how long she'll stay. It's about three hours from DC."  
  
Dawn groaned. "Okay, I'll wake Xander, but you get to explain why we have to leave at midnight."  
  
"You think that's bad? It's five AM here. I haven't even slept yet."  
  
"You can tell me all about it while Xander drives." Dawn shot Xander an evil look.  
  
Willow laughed. "Sounds good. Just be ready for me to fall asleep mid sentence,"  
  
Dawn yawned, resting her elbow against the car door as she held the phone to her ear. "Okay, we're in Easton now. Where are we going?"  
  
"Cross. . . ." Willow cracked a yawn as well. "Cross the bridge into New Jersey, and continue on 22 until you get to First Street. We've got her in a field by one of the schools."  
  
Xander blinked rapidly as Dawn relayed the information to him. His head drooped occasionally, and he hadn't spoken more than four words in the entire three hour drive. Dawn had kept up a constant chatter with Willow, hoping to help keep him awake.  
  
They hit a series of rumble strips as they drove around a sharp curve in the road, and Xander jerked his head up again. "Please tell me we're almost there."  
  
"You're almost there." Willow sounded as tired as Xander did. "Just find the girl, and then you two can go back to bed."  
  
"Thank god." Dawn sighed. "Wood better give me an extension on that paper."  
  
"Extenuating circumstances." Willow's voice grew muffled for a moment, then she came back on the line. "Okay, we can't get a name, since she doesn't seem to have an address. I know this is a bit unorthodox, but bear with us guys. And be careful. There's no telling what this girl is into."  
  
"Got it." They drove across the bridge and into Phillipsburg. Easton, PA and Phillipsburg seemed to blend together at the edges, separated only by the Delaware river. The road looped around a few more times, bordered on the right by dingy looking shops, and on the left by circles of grass and trees. They passed a gas station and Xander blinked again. Then he grinned.  
  
"We are so filling up here. We're filling up, and buying three extra gas canisters and carrying extra with us."  
  
Dawn looked at the sign. The price of gas was a good twenty cents cheaper here than in Pennsylvania, and forty cheaper than any they'd seen in DC.  
  
"God." Dawn rolled her neck. "You know the economy's in the shitter when you get excited by gas that costs less than two dollars a gallon."  
  
"Hell yeah." Xander shifted gears as another driver cut them off from a side road at high speed. "Drivers here suck, though. Which way are we turning on First?"  
  
Dawn listened a moment. "Left."  
  
Xander shifted lanes, then blinked and shifted back to the right. "Sign says right lane."  
  
"But we're turning left."  
  
Xander shrugged and pulled into a looping off ramp type road. They pulled to a stop at the light, aimed to drive straight onto First Street. "Jug handle turn. I've heard of these."  
  
Dawn shrugged, leaning her head back. "Okay, Willow, First Street, then what?"  
  
"Drive to the end of the street and turn left. The field should be on your left, it's marked here as a baseball diamond."  
  
"Cool."  
  
Xander steered the car silently through the turns, then finally pulled to a stop up against a curb. The baseball diamond lay empty in front of them. "This it?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So where's our girl?"  
  
Dawn shrugged. The diamond was bordered on three sides by thick rows of trees and bushes. "Maybe she's hiding from something?"  
  
Willow yawned again, starting a chain reaction as Dawn yawned in response, followed by Xander.  
  
"That's all I've got for you. Good luck, guys, call me tomorrow, let me know how it goes."  
  
"Okay." Dawn reached for the clasp of her seat belt. "Have fun in Ireland."  
  
"I already am. Bye Dawn."  
  
"Bye Willow."  
  
The phone clicked off.  
  
A group of five teenagers spilled out of the trees at the far end of the diamond, followed closely by a group of seven vampires. The teens, a rather motley crew dressed in crusty, patched clothing, carrying small bags, fought back with box cutter knives and cans of pepper spray, but were only barely keeping the vamps at bay.   
  
Xander blinked at them. He glanced at the dashboard. Then he blinked at them again. He looked exhausted.  
  
One of the teens, a girl with faded blue, thick dread locks, was obviously doing better against the vamps than her companions, though her movements were awkward and untrained. She threw a vampire three times her side back into the woods.  
  
"There's our slayer."  
  
Xander nodded.  
  
"We should help her."  
  
Xander nodded again. Then he slammed his foot into the accelorator, aiming the car at a pair of vampires menacing one of the teens.  
  
The teenagers scattered, but the vamps, obviously newly risen and remarkably cocky, simply flicked the vehicle off.  
  
The car slammed into the two vampires, the hood folding under the impact, the windshield cracking as they rolled up over the top of the car and down the back.  
  
Dawn already had a pair of stakes and an axe ready from the back seat. As soon as Xander jerked the car to a stop, she leaped out, tossing Blue-Dreads one of her stakes. The girl shouted a thanks, and dispatched three of the vamps in rapid succession. She tried to stake a fourth, but missed the heart. Dawn rushed into the fight, axe swinging. The fourth vampire lost its head and crumpled to dust.  
  
Xander backed the car back over the two vamps he'd hit, watching through the rearview mirror as steam rose from under the hood. The car whined and he ran them over two more times, then finally gave up and stopped working completely. Xander groaned, pulling out one of the swords, and climbed out of the car. He slammed the sword down onto the necks of the two writhing vampires, and smiled tiredly as they dusted.  
  
Blue-Dreads had a hold on the last remaining vamp, and shouted to Dawn for assistance. Dawn grinned, and shoved her stake into its chest.  
  
As the dust settled, the slayer glanced over her four friends. "Everyone okay?"  
  
A series of nods, and Blue-Dreads smiled. A curly haired boy with an enormous, bushy beard, looked sullen.  
  
"I lost my guitar somewhere, though."  
  
Blue-Dreads rolled her eyes. "You dropped it back at the playground. We'll go get it, don't worry." She turned to Xander and Dawn, who were sullenly watching the steam pouring out of their car. "Thanks for the save, sorry 'bout the car though. I'm Nomad. Guitar boy here is Coyote," She pronounced it "Kai-yoat" as the boy waved, "And these are Artemis, Chickadee, and Sam."  
  
Artemis was an Asian girl with roughly cropped, wild hair and a six inch scar across her nose and right cheek. Chickadee was a large, burly kid with a shaved head and a soul patch. Sam wore a stained scarf around the lower half of his face, his dishwater blonde hair hanging down into his eyes. Dawn shook their hands.  
  
"I'm Dawn and this is Xander. Those guys you were fighting. . . ."  
  
"Vampires." Sam nodded. His voice was strangely low and graveled, not muffled in the least by his scarf. "We know."  
  
Xander nodded. He was too tired to be surprised by anything, including the strange group in front of him and their knowledge of vampires. "Well, Nomad is–"  
  
"A slayer." Sam nodded again. Dawn blinked.  
  
"How do you know about slayers?"  
  
Artemis shrugged. "Sam here knows a lot about most things. But anyone with even a glimmer of magic felt that spell last year." She raised a finger, producing a small flame at the tip which she used to light up a hand-rolled cigarette. "We knew what Nomad was the moment she was called."  
  
"Huh." Xander sat down on the curb. "Then you know there's a whole lot of them now, not just one?"  
  
"We're a little fuzzy on the details, but, yeah." Chickadee's voice was surprisingly high-pitched. He slumped down into the road. "It's tough to hold onto weapons, though, even something as simple as a stake. Good thing you two came along."  
  
Nomad was staring at Dawn and Xander, her hands on her hips. "How do you two know about slayers?"  
  
"We're looking for them." Xander leaned back on his arms and yawned again. "Have been for a couple months now. Some friends of ours are running a school out in Cleveland, and we're trying to get as many girls to attend as possible, so they all have the training they need when they run into a situation like the one you guys were just in. The Helsing Institute." He gestured at the defunct car. "I've got a pamphlet in there, somewhere."  
  
Coyote nodded. "Well, we can talk again in the morning. You two have a place to stay?"  
  
Dawn shook her head. "We just got into town. I don't suppose there's any hotels around, preferably within walking distance?"  
  
"In Phillipsburg?" Coyote laughed. "Nah. But a friend of ours lives down the road a couple blocks. We're crashing with him for the night before moving on." He glanced at Artemis and Chickadee, who nodded. Nomad looked a little wary, but shrugged. "You're welcome to join us."  
  
"Sounds good." Xander shoved himself to his feet. "Lay on, Macduff."  
  
"The girls and Chickadee can take you." Coyote's eyes slid over toward Sam. "I gotta get my guitar. Sam, you wanna walk with me for a bit?"  
  
Sam nodded and turned toward the baseball diamond without another word. Coyote waved and followed.  
  
Artemis, Chickadee, and Nomad exchanged glances. "Well, let's get going."  
  
End part one 


End file.
